


Collectivism

by JimIntoMystery



Series: Futility [3]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Delta Quadrant, Gen, The Borg, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimIntoMystery/pseuds/JimIntoMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Starfleet and its allies wage war against the Borg on the far side of the galaxy, the crew of the shuttlecraft <em>Hrunting</em> is hopelessly lost, deep within enemy territory.  Even the starship <em>Voyager</em> never explored this region of the Delta Quadrant.</p><p>Lt. Commander Kreighen soon discovers that the Borg may not be the most dangerous force lurking in Borg space.  When his shuttle and a Borg interceptor are both cornered by the same mysterious dreadnought, Kreighen must find a way to work together with his cybernetic enemy.  He must accomplish what Starfleet's finest captains never could...and if he succeeds, the Borg could become an even greater threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In an instant, Sergeant Ajax resumed consciousness as his hologram was reactivated. He immediately found his commander crumpled on the floor. "What happened?"

Ijhel was the only crewmember free to assist him. "We're under attack!" she explained. "When Kreighen hailed them, they--"

The _Hrunting_ was rocked by another blast. "Aft shields gone!" Jimenez reported.

Undaunted, Ajax picked up a tricorder and switched over to his medical subroutines, the closest the shuttle had to a physician. "Synaptic response falling," the hologram muttered. "Ten ccs tricordrazine..."

"But...that'll kill him--!"

" _Now!_ " He pushed her aside to load the hypospray himself.

"There's a Murasaki phenomenon ten million kilometers to starboard!" Jimenez called out over the rattling of the hull. "Think we can lose them there?"

"We'll find out," Tirava answered. She dropped the shuttle out of warp to find a swirling magnetic storm. 

Ajax paid no mind. His only concern was his patient...until a massive shadow filled the cockpit window above him. And then there was nothing he could do, except listen to Tirava invoke her people's god.

"Uzaveh..."


	2. Chapter 2

Jake Kreighen awoke to the impotent whirring of malfunctioning servos. When he opened his eyes he was confronted with the sight of a prostrate Borg drone beside him, its mechanisms spasming from a lack of higher brain function.

Startled, he pushed himself away from the wretched automaton and got up on his feet. It was only now that he noticed his surroundings--a total of four drones strewn across the foredeck with his shipmates, and a fifth locked in combat with Sergeant Ajax.

As a hologram, Ajax's true physical presence was no more than the tiny device needed to store his program and project it into light and force fields. He was the perfect weapon to oppose the Borg--he would not tire and could scarcely sustain lethal damage. His ability to alter his projection to include any melee weapon made him an even more dangerous opponent in close quarters, and aboard the _Hrunting_ there were no quarters of any other kind. The Borg intruder, slow and awkward, was no match for Starfleet's perfect killing software armed with a Jem'Hadar polearm. As the sergeant stabbed and sliced his way through armor plating, he caught sight of his superior. "Commander! Check on the others! I've been busy!"

The reality of the situation now sank in for Kreighen--whatever had happened, it had left his people unconscious, perhaps dying. He rushed to the cockpit, where Tirava was slumped over the helm. The crack in the console and the blood on her forehead told the story, and he feared the worst as he nervously searched for a pulse. After long seconds he finally noticed her antennae curling reflexively. He didn't know much about Andorian physiology, but he'd seen the behavior before (the night she had fallen asleep in his arms) and took it as a good sign.

Doctor Ijhel, Ajax's programmer, was sprawled along the ramp between the foredeck and the cockpit--he couldn't begin to guess how the Cardassian had landed there. From his vantage point he could see her breathing, so he moved on to his engineer, doubled over against a corner. As he checked Jimenez, he spoke aloud "Computer, what time...what _day_ is it?"

"Stardate 63141.6, sixteen hundred twenty-five hours," came the response. Only twenty minutes, Kreighen figured, since he had blacked out.

Ajax had by now dispatched the fifth and latest drone, leaving it to collapse on the floor like the others. The weapon in his hand dematerialized as he approached his commanding officer. "There's not much time," he explained. "They'll send another..."

"Report, Sergeant. The last I remember, we were ambushed by an alien ship. All I'm sure about is that it _wasn't_ Borg..."

"You were incapacitated somehow, sir. I don't know much of what happened before I was brought online to treat you. Tirava took the helm and we changed course to an ionizing microquasar, hoping to lose the attacker in its Murasaki Effect. As soon as we arrived we encountered the Borg."

Kreighen began to pace back and forth, frustrated with the situation. "Out of the frying pan..." he muttered.

"With our shields weakened," Ajax continued, "they didn't have any trouble catching us in a tractor beam. Then Tirava...well..."

"Tirava _what_ , Sergeant?" It wasn't like the hologram to hem and haw, particularly about ship's business. 

"She..." Ajax resigned himself to what he had to say. "She panicked, sir. She diverted power from the inertial dampers...all but tore the shuttle apart...trying to break the tractor beam. I don't fault her at all, given her experiences with the Borg--"

"I understand," Kreighen reassured him. "With the inertial dampers offline, it's no wonder everyone was thrown around. But I-I...I seem to be fine..." he trailed off, noticing his hands trembling. "Or am I?"

"Since you were already lying on the floor, you didn't have as far to fall," Ajax explained. "But whatever the aliens did to you nearly caused total synaptic failure in your brain. I had to give you ten ccs of tricordrazine..."

"That must be it. I feel like I've had a barrel of Klingon coffee. Tricordrazine is tricky stuff..."

"Trickier than you think. Commander, I gave you twice the maximum dose for a human. Your heartrate and blood pressure have skyrocketed. My intent was for you to have time to rest until the effect wore off, and even then you're still at risk for a stroke or heart failure. But now--"

"I know, I know!" Kreighen interrupted. "We have to deal with the Borg first. I gather they tractored us into one of their assimilation bays. What do we know about the ship?"

Ajax gathered up the equipment from his medkit off the deck as he responded. "It's a probe ship, oblong form factor, three hundred fifty meters long. Standard crew complement is a thousand drones."

"I take it they've just been beaming in one drone at a time? That doesn't make much sense."

"It's consistent with their tactics, sir." The hologram began taking tricorder readings of Tirava's cranium while he summarized everything his databanks had on Borg raiding procedures. "If the target resists, contain it; then send a minimal boarding party to begin assimilation; if the first boarding party fails, send another and another until the job is done. It's been years since the Borg have been able to pacify, capture, and invade a Starfleet vessel with impunity, but that's always what they attempt to do."

"Even now that they've got us, it still won't work," Kreighen considered. "The crew is inoculated against assimilation--they'll probably get us killed trying to find a way around that. Our technology has enough anti-Borg safeguards to give us time to destroy it before they can study it. 

"They can keep us from leaving," Ajax concluded, "but that doesn't get them what they want."

"And vice-versa." Kreighen's eyes lit up. "We can block _their_ goals, but that doesn't get _us_ anywhere either. I wonder..." He rummaged through a storage compartment, in search of weapons.

Ajax completed his initial scans of the crew. "Sir, Ijhel and Jimenez should be fine, but the blow to Tirava's head has--"

He was interrupted by the sight of a shimmering green glow, as a sixth Borg drone was transported into the shuttle. In an instant Ajax went from physician to soldier, weapon in hand, ready to defend his ship. "Commander, stay back!"

"Don't!" Kreighen barely had time to intervene. "Take care of your patients, Sergeant, I'll deal with the Borg."

To the drone both men were irrelevant. It ambled across the deck, stepping over its fallen comrades, towards the same computer station they had failed to access. With Ajax reluctantly staying his hand, this Borg managed to get slightly closer. But not close enough--it suddenly staggered, and seemed to reach for its head in pain, if such a thing were possible for its kind.

Kreighen approached the drone, allowing it to see the Starfleet jammer unit in his right hand. The tool's sole purpose was to disrupt the complex interlink signals used to network the Borg hive mind. "Now that I have your attention," he began, "I wish to discuss the situation."

It would have been typical for the drone to ignore him, or attack. But Kreighen's choice of weapon was particularly offensive to the Borg Collective, which jealously guarded its hold on its members. "Discussion is irrelevant," it replied once it regained its footing. "You will disarm your weapons and facilitate the incorporation of your biological and technolog--"

"Wrong answer." Kreighen unleashed another pulse.

The drone genuinely appeared to suffer, and only when Kreighen ceased the jamming signal did it respond. "You must comply."

"No, I don't," the commander reasoned. "You have analyzed our defensive capabilities and you _know_ we're able to withstand you. If _you_ do not comply you will be punished. Resistance is futile."

"Resistance is--" The drone stopped suddenly, as though the whole Collective had just noticed Kreighen beat them to their own slogan. 

"It's futile for both of us. You can't assimilate me, and I can't protect my crew from you."

"Then you will die," the Borg retorted.

"Maybe I will," Kreighen countered, "but I know you have an incentive to avoid that. You're at war with the Federation Alliance and you need to assimilate their latest technology to formulate new defenses. You can't afford to kill any of my crew to make good on your threat, so it's empty. The only course of action left is to meet with me to negotiate an agreement."

The drone stood motionless for several seconds, as though seriously contemplating a complex decision. "It is unlikely you are prepared to make concessions," it finally answered. "It is more likely that this is an attempt at deception."

The commander stood firm. "Deception is irrelevant. You will adapt. This drone will escort me to the atrium of your ship, where I will discuss terms directly with the entire collective. All attempts to seize my vessel will cease; if you do not comply I will destroy it.

Again the drone grew still; Kreighen was starting to like that. Finally it announced a decision. "We will comply."

"That's better," Kreighen huffed. "You may dispose of your dead drones before we proceed."

In assent, the Borg began retrieving critical components from its shipmates. As each one was stripped of its vital parts, a self-destruct mechanism triggered, leaving nothing behind to be exploited except a humanoid-shaped stain on the deckplate.

Ajax took this opportunity to quietly confer with his commander. "Do you really think this will work?"

"I think everything else _won't_ work," Kreighen admitted. He sighed and tried to relax. "I'll try to keep them away from the _Hrunting_. You need to fix up the crew and prepare for the worst--that's my only bargaining chip. How's Tirava?"

"I can get the others on their feet within the hour, but Tirava's injuries are more pronounced. I'll need to perform neurosurgery before I can even think about trying to wake her."

"I'm not even sure we'd want her awake, under the circumstances. The Borg have tried to reconnect with her before, and we can't afford that liability."

"Once I get her stabilized, I can induce a coma," Ajax suggested. "I can't guarantee that will shield her mind from the Borg, but it's the best I can do."

"Understood." Kreighen was interrupted by the tug of the Borg drone aggressively grabbing his arm. "I guess I'll be on my way, then. You have your orders, Sergeant." As he left, he made one last glance back to the Andorian. _Sweet dreams, Tirava_ , he thought. _I don't know which of has it worse..._


	3. Chapter 3

> Captain's Log, stardate 39133.4.
> 
> The _Tombaugh_ is en route to Selenia II, on the edge of the explored galaxy. I admit to a certain anticipation during this voyage, as the loveliness of Selenia is legendary among deep-space travelers.
> 
> Upon arrival, we shall deliver the second wave of settlers to New Harmony colony, a Sevrinite commune of philosophers and artists that hope to create a new model for utopian society in the universe. I cannot say if their way of life is truly superior to that of a Starfleet officer, though I have observed that our passengers have had a...profound effect upon my crew. 

Captain Arthur Blackwood strode onto the bridge of the starship _Tombaugh_ , carrying himself as if he were the commodore of an entire fleet rather than a simple transport ship. Protocol was protocol, whether he was patrolling the Tzenkethi border or towing wreckage to the nearest surplus depot. Without hesitation, the ranking duty officer announced his arrival. "Captain on the bridge."

Blackwood nodded to his second-in-command. "Report, Mister Hardcastle."

"We've just dropped out of warp and are entering the Selenia system, sir. What are your orders?"

The captain seemingly ignored the question, and examined the bridge personnel. Lieutenant Inés Carvalho tended to her duties at ops. The Bynar pair that jointly headed the science division were at their usual aft station. The Andorian weapons officer, Tirava, stood stonefaced at her tactical console. And at the helm...

"All stop," he ordered.

Ensign Doumbia started to cast a doubtful glance toward the captain, but thought better of it. "Aye, sir, answering all stop."

"That will be all, Ensign. You are relieved."

Lieutenant Commander Hardcastle stepped toward the captain. "Something wrong, sir?"

Blackwood gave him an irritated look. "Nothing at all, now. Mister Doumbia's shift ended twenty-six minutes ago. Since we are without a flight controller, it's entirely fitting that we be without flight."

"Sir, as first officer, I can assure you that Ensign Stone will be disciplined for his tardiness--"

"Indeed, that matter falls under your purview, Mister Hardcastle," the captain replied. "And the matter of moving this ship falls to whomever is assigned to that duty."

The next seven minutes were spent in silence, as the bridge officers tended to their stations and Blackwood presided over his motionless vessel. Then, to the relief of all, an impossibly young man stumbled out of the turbolift. 

Walter Stone was mortified to find the whole bridge staring at him as he hurried to the conn. "I--I'm sorry, Captain, sir, I was...uh...unavoidably detained..."

"Not at all, Ensign," Blackwood grinned sarcastically. "As you might observe, I would not dream of proceeding one meter forward until your schedule permits it."

By now Hardcastle determined that the ensign had suffered enough. "Sir, if I may...the adherents of Sevrin's doctrine abstain from many forms of technology, including timepieces..."

The captain was unimpressed. "Then am I to take it young Mister Stone here is to be absolved of his responsibilities by virtue of fraternizing with our guests? I find that woefully insufficient, Mister Hardcastle." He raised his voice, as though addressing the entire room. "I will grant that is part of our mission: To respect other lifestyles, to experience them, to learn all that we can about them. But the uniform we all wear signifies a choice to follow a much narrower path! Our freedom to explore the...uninhibited culture of the Sevrinites ends where our duties begin. Temperance, Mister Hardcastle! That is the watchword of a Starfleet officer."

"Yes, sir!" the commander acknowledged.

"It was the Mizarian girl, wasn't it?" Carvalho prodded the helmsman. "The one who wears all that body paint?"

"How did you--?" Stone squirmed in his proverbial hot seat.

Tirava spoke up from her post. "Request permission to conduct a _thorough_ investigation of this matter, Captain. In the interests of security."

"I'll consider it, Lieutenant," Blackwood smirked. "After all, those missing thirty-three minutes must be accounted for. In the meantime, Ensign, I expect you to make up that lost time by bringing this ship to Selenia II on schedule."

"Aye aye, Captain," Stone squeaked.

The green young ensign was spared further torment when the turbolift opened again. "Permission to come on the bridge, Captain?"

Blackwood turned to discover his chief medical officer, Doctor Valanna Elori. She was Risian, hailing from a world where selfless pleasure was an end unto itself, and thus profoundly dedicated to the wellbeing of the entire crew. Her beauty was almost unsettling, and--in tandem with her gregarious nature--highly distracting. This had all been true the day before. But today she stood in the turbolift wearing the latest variant of Starfleet's duty uniform...featuring a provocatively short skirt.

"Permission...granted," the captain stammered.

" _Likewise_ ," Hardcastle smiled wryly.

"Oh, that's right." She quickly became aware of her appearance, but she was by no means self-conscious. "I like it too. It's high time Starfleet adopted a more...Risian approach to its attire."

"Don't let that get around," The first officer joked. "Our temperance-minded captain has a bone to pick with the Sevrinites."

"Really?" Elori casually glided across the bridge, to the seat at the left of the captain's chair. "Well, from a purely medical standpoint, I think they're doing wonders for the crew's stamina. In fact I'd like to recommend extended shore leave when we reach New Harmony." She crossed her legs, just a bit more slowly than necessary. "You know, Captain, this design _is_ unisex, and I think you have the calves for it."

"Sir," Carvalho interjected. "We're within sensor range of the colony, but I'm not picking up any life signs..."

Blackwood's attention immediately snapped back to his duty. "Explain."

"I can't, sir. I should be reading a thousand humanoids in a centralized settlement, but I can't even find anything to suggest the colony was ever there."

The captain gestured to tactical. "Hail them."

Tirava dispatched a standard greeting, but to no avail. "No response," she concluded. Just then, she spotted a proximity alert on her console. "Wait...I'm detecting a large...something...it's in geosynchronous orbit over the site of the colony."

Captain Blackwood's mood turned very dour as he presumed the worst. "On screen."

In moments, Tirava tied in her sensor readings with the massive viewscreen at the front of the bridge. As one, the crew got their first glimpse of Selenia II...and the bizarre object hovering ominously above the planet. It showed no visible evidence that it had a purpose, and yet its design indicated an underlying intelligence--someone, or something, had crafted it in the shape of a regular hexahedron.

"What the devil is that?" the captain muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

As Kreighen was led deeper and deeper into the Borg ship, he felt as if he might jump out of his own skin. Ajax had not exaggerated the effects of the tricordrazine, and the stress of seeking a truce with the Borg would only make it that much worse. His impatient thoughts were consumed with the fate of his crew, and Tirava in particular. It gnawed at him that he had to leave before Ajax could treat her injuries. He took what little comfort he could in knowing that she would be kept sedated, oblivious to the nightmare around her. 

She had already suffered enough, both at the hands of the Borg and through his association with her. There was little more to their relationship than that one night together, and yet she had doggedly remained at his side when he appropriated the _Hrunting_ for a rogue operation. Her loyalty was rewarded with his deception, and a share in the punishment for his crimes. She and the others were exiled with him, on a mission all but designed to ensure their convenient demise. She resented him deeply for this. His only chance to make it right was to get her out of the mess he'd put her in, so that she could be rid of him.

Federation intelligence suggested that the interior of every Borg vessel was centered around a vast atrium, and this probe was no exception. The function of this space was unclear, although researchers generally believed it might be used to contain captured ships, or even small outposts. What was clear, and what Kreighen was counting on, was that the Borg preferred to communicate from this atrium, evidently to instill awe in individual life forms. As the commander was brought into the atrium and found himself surrounded by the juggernaut, he could imagine the Collective using this tactic to frighten the resistance out of its targets. But this time they were playing into his hands--as long as they were talking down to him here, they would most likely ignore the others.

Standing on a catwalk overlooking the ship's interior, he suddenly found it rather awkward to open a dialogue, considering that he had technically been speaking to the entire ship when he confronted a single drone earlier. "I am Lieutenant Commander Jacob Kreighen of the Federation shuttle _Hrunting_ ," he announced.

The ship itself spoke for its crew, utilizing all of their voices to express their singular thought. "LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JACOB KREIGHEN, YOU LEAD THE AUTHORITY-DRIVEN CULTURE OF YOUR SHIP. YOU SPEAK FOR YOUR PEOPLE."

Kreighen couldn't tell if this was a statement or a question. "That's right..."

"YOU WILL FACILITATE THE SURRENDER OF YOUR PERSONNEL SO THAT THEY WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US."

"No, I won't." He shook his head, reminding himself this was never going to be easy. "You haven't been able to force us to comply, so what makes you think you can _tell_ me to?"

"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."

"It's gotten me this far. You'll have to do better than that."

"ALL WILL BE ASSIMILATED. IT IS INEVITABLE."

Frustrated, Kreighen paced around the catwalk, trying to find a way to get through to them. He was already on edge, and the thick atmosphere of the ship only made it worse. And then, an epiphany. "Inevitable..." he mumbled, collecting his thoughts. "That's not a threat, coming from you...it's manifest destiny. You're not _promising_ to assimilate the entire galaxy, you're just _that sure_ it will happen."

"EXISTENCE AS YOU KNOW IT WILL BE OBSOLETE IN THE NEW ORDER."

"You're confident you're going to get me, my ship--hell, the whole Federation! Even if I can escape you for fifty years, even if I destroy half your fleet in the process...you see that as nothing but wasted effort. Because either way, I still get assimilated. When you say resistance is futile, you don't mean that it's irrelevant, you mean that it's ultimately unproductive."

"ESCAPE IS IRRELEVANT. RESISTANCE IS HOPELESS."

Kreighen looked out into the seemingly endless abyss, as if seeing the Borg for the first time. "You're not trying to demoralize me, you're trying to make it easier on me. Why should I expend my energy and risk my life when the outcome will still be the same?"

"WE ONLY WISH TO RAISE QUALITY OF LIFE FOR ALL SPECIES. WHY DO YOU RESIST US?"

"Because I don't want to be like you!"

"SELF-DETERMINATION IS IRRELEVANT."

"Why?"

"YOUR DISTINCTIVENESS WILL ADD TO OUR PERFECTION."

"But I don't care about _your_ perfection!" For a moment, Kreighen could forget that he was dealing with a vast, collective consciousness; it wasn't hard when that consciousness behaved like a spoiled child. "You and I are in a stalemate, your needs are not paramount. What's in it for me?"

"OUR SURVIVAL IS YOUR SURVIVAL."

It almost sounded like a non-sequitur, until he reasoned it through. "You're saying that I will improve the Borg...and that the Borg will ensure my survival."

"YOU WILL BE REBORN WITH A GREATER PURPOSE. YOUR VOICE WILL CONTINUE FOR ALL TIME IN THE COLLECTIVE."

"You really think you trying to do me a favor, don't you?" Kreighen concluded. "You want to make me immortal, part of something bigger than my individual existence. You want me to cooperate, for my own sake. And it doesn't matter what I want because it's trumped by what the Collective and I supposedly need."

"THERE IS NO NEED FOR APPREHENSION. WE INTEND NO HARM."

Kreighen rolled his eyes. "You should've told us that twenty years ago," he muttered. "Maybe we wouldn't have gotten off to a bad start." Raising his voice, he replied, "Your intentions are irrelevant. My compliance wouldn't matter. The Federation has infused me with technology that prevents you from assimilating me. I couldn't circumvent those defenses if I wanted to, let alone teach you how to do it. You're not going to get what you want from me."

"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."

"Yeah, I _heard_ ," he groaned. "In the long-term, maybe. In the short-term, though, assimilation is impossible. Who knows, maybe someday I will end up adding to your perfection. But until then, there's no point in holding my ship. It's a waste of your resources. Facilitation is hopeless for now."

The entire atrium grew silent for nearly ten seconds. Just as Kreighen began to adjust to the quiet, hundreds of voices boomed: "WE CONCUR. STATE YOUR TERMS."

He felt his heart skip a beat, and desperately attempted to calm himself before continuing. "I must get my ship to safety. The lives and freedom of my crew are _very_ relevant--to me, anyway. I don't expect you to accede out of the kindess of your hearts, so--"

"KINDNESS IS IRRELEVANT."

"Right, right," he groaned. "I'm prepared to offer--" Kreighen felt the catwalk shake, and then he realized it was the entire ship. Before his eyes, an explosion erupted up from the ventral hull, about fifty meters away. He'd been in the business of fighting Borg long enough to know that a blast like that was made by something that could destroy the whole ship...with his crew on it.


	5. Chapter 5

Dozens of Borg drones began to cross the catwalk where Kreighen was standing, apparently in response to the explosion that tore through the ship. "What happened?" he demanded.

"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK," the Collective responded. "YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED."

Kreighen shook his head. "We've been over that! Who's attacking you? The Federation fleet is too far away."

"VESSEL IDENTIFIED. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT, SIX HUNDRED FORTY LIFE FORMS. LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JACOB KREIGHEN, YOU WILL ASSIST US. YOU MUST COMPLY." Two of the drones passing by him stopped and grasped his arms. 

"What's in it for me?" he insisted. "If I do nothing, your enemy will cripple this vessel and I might be able to escape from you. If I try to help them, they may rescue me. What do you have to offer?"

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED." Another explosion ripped through the ship, sending a plume of igniting plasma into the far end of the atrium. "YOU MUST COMPLY."

He could tell this was going nowhere. He couldn't operate like this, standing in the bowels of a sinking ship without any way to see above deck. "I will consider assisting you," he suggested, "with the provision that you tell me what you know about this attacker."

"ASSIMILATION WILL ALLOW US TO WORK AS ONE MIND." The two drones at his side tightened their grip.

"Just take me to a viewscreen and _show me the damn ship!_ " Kreighen seethed. Quickly, his escorts marched him out of the catwalk, into a chamber with an array of consoles and visual interfaces. "Maybe I could talk to them," he continued, "negotiate some kind of ceasefire..."

When the enemy vessel appeared onscreen, Kreighen's eyes widened with recognition. Species 10538 was, evidently, the same race that chased the _Hrunting_ all the way here, into the Borg's clutches. It might well have been the exact same ship. But that wasn't the only valuable intelligence the Starfleet commander had gained from the image; it showed the attacker behind a swirling green cloud, which let him put all the pieces together.

"I have tactical information on this life form," he announced. It was a bluff--he'd barely seen anything from his last engagement with the ship before it had rendered him unconscious--but a bluff sure to persuade the Borg. "I've encountered this species before."

"ELABORATE."

"Not so fast," he shot back. "Species 10538, as you call it, is extremely dangerous, even to the Borg. You've already sustained more damage from their attacks than my shuttle did. That's why you're hiding in this Murasaki quasar--you can't call in reinforcements, so you're trying to use the ionic storms to conceal your position."

"THE STELLAR REMNANT IN SYSTEM TWO ZERO NINE FIVE GENERATES IONIZING RADIATION CAPABLE OF DISRUPTING SENSORS."

"Right, the Murasaki Effect. Then how come your sensors can still see them?"

"WE ARE BORG."

A third conflagration made Kreighen's point for him. "And _they_ are winning. We have to assume their sensors are at least as good as yours, or they wouldn't know where to aim. Take us closer to one of the quasar's radio jets--there'd be more gravitational distortion to give us cover."

"UNACCEPTABLE. THIS VESSEL IS NOT DESIGNATED FOR OPERATION IN THOSE CONDITIONS. WE WILL CONTINUE TO ANALYZE THE DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES OF SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT AND PREPARE FOR ASSIMILATION."

Kreighen's mind raced for the words to convince them. "Look, if standard Borg tactics were going to work, you'd have already assimilated these guys by now. You'd have already assimilated _me_ by now. Luckily you couldn't, so I can tell you what you need to hear: If you stay here, you'll be destroyed. The same goes for me and my ship."

"YOU ARE SMALL, DISORGANIZED, ERRATIC. YOU WILL FAIL. WE POSSESS HARMONY, COHESION, GREATNESS. WE WILL ADAPT."

"Sure you will," Kreighen agreed, "But this small being knows which adaptation you need to make. You can't beat this threat alone and neither can I. But if we combine our resources and utilize _both_ of our philosophies, your greatness and my erratic thoughts might make the difference."

"YOU PROPOSE AN ALLIANCE THAT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE TO MAINTAIN. THE MOST RECENT ATTEMPT AT AN AGREEMENT WITH YOUR SPECIES ENDED WITH BETRAYAL AND THE DEFECTION OF THOUSANDS OF DRONES."

"If I remember my history," Kreighen countered, "the _first_ alliance between the Borg and humanity ended with my people saving yours from Species 8472, right before _you_ violated the agreement. Both sides have reasons not to trust one another. Humans have had that problem for thousands of years--it comes with being 'small, disorganized, erratic.' We don't have the luxury of assimilating everybody else. But we adapted by finding ways to set aside our distrust and make peace with our enemies. 

"Three hundred years ago the founding members of the Federation could hardly stand one another. Fifteen years ago the Federation, Klingons, Romulans, and Cardassians were all at the brink of war. Now we've all formed a collective capable of challenging yours. Right now, though, it doesn't matter which of us wins our war; we have to work together to win this battle."

Silence filled the atrium, until Kreighen could hear the humming of individual distribution nodes. By the time the Borg responded, he already knew he had them on board. "STATE YOUR PROPOSAL."

"We'll start by moving your ship closer to the quasar," he began, "as close as you can get without losing hull integrity. I'll return to my shuttle and order my crew to work with you, to defeat the enemy ship. You and I will collaborate on the strategy as equals--we will only pursue a course of action if we are in agreement. Once the threat is eliminated and we can safely leave the quasar, we peacefully go our separate ways until each ship is out of sensor range of the other. After that, all's fair--if you want to assimilate Species 10538 or track me down again, you're welcome to try."

"AGREED. PROPULSION ACTIVATED. APPROACHING THE ACCRETION DISC OF THE STELLAR REMNANT." The Borg ship shuddered from another volley, but this time there appeared to be no damage. "SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT IS HOLDING POSITION OUTSIDE THE ELECTROMAGNETIC PHENOMENON."

"Interesting," Kreighen observed. "They have you outmatched in their weapons, obviously, but they either can't penetrate the Murasaki Effect, or won't risk it. Try scanning the EM field, maybe we can learn why--"

His escorts reasserted themselves, grabbing him by the shoulders. "YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY RETURN TO YOUR SHUTTLE AND COORDINATE YOUR CREW, AS WE AGREED. YOU MUST COMPLY."

Kreighen offered no resistance, and allowed himself to be shoved along. "You're welcome," he said under his breath.


	6. Chapter 6

> Captain's Log, supplementary.
> 
> The _Tombaugh_ can still find no trace of the New Harmony colonists, even as we orbit Selenia II. Over the objections of First Officer Hardcastle, I have personally led an away team to the surface, where we discovered still more horror--the apparent destruction of every building, street, and tool that might have existed at the site of the colony. Even the soil itself has been scooped away, to remove whatever underground facilities might have been present.
> 
> My crew now faces a daunting task, no less challenging than the solving the mystery of the Roanoke Colony or Omicron Theta. Our only clue to this riddle is the enormous cube-shaped object orbiting the planet. Although we can detect power readings emanating from the structure, there appear to be no life forms within it. I have returned to the _Tombaugh_ , where I have scheduled a conference to assess the situation.

Captain Blackwood strode into the briefing room, quickly followed by his away team, to find the rest of his senior officers standing at attention. "Be seated," he opened. "Mister Hardcastle, what have you found?"

"We've run a level three scan of the colony and everything around it in a thirty kilometer radius," the first officer answered. "If any of the colonists are still on Selenia II, they're a long way from home, or exceptionally well hidden."

"The Federation hasn't been in contact with New Harmony for over a month," Doctor Elori noted. "For all we know they've been missing all that time."

"Unlikely." Tirava sat at the end of the table, trying in vain to contain her rage for the sake of protocol. "The invader wouldn't have lingered here so long after its attack."

"We don't even know that the cube had anything to do with it," Hardcastle reminder her. "It's sat out there since before we entered the system, without taking a single hostile action."

"It doesn't have to," the Andorian replied. "It's done whatever it wants with the colony. It can do whatever it wants with us, whenever it wants. Until we know what it's doing here, we have to raise our shields!"

Captain Blackwood ended the argument. "Negative, Lieutenant. If we activate our defense screens we risk provoking the very attack you're anticipating. Even if this object represents a life form, and even if it caused the disappearance of the colony, we cannot conclude from those assumptions that it will respond to a show of strength in the way we expect. We need to know more about 'Croatoan' before we proceed."

The chief science officers began chattering to one another at an incredible speed. It was unusual for a starship to have two people heading a single department, but the Bynars were a paired species; this couple had been cybernetically linked from birth to cooperate in every activity. Like all their race, each of them had no name beyond a lengthy binary identification--for convenience, the _Tombaugh_ crew affectionately nicknamed the pair "Qwerty" and "Dvorak." After four seconds and the exchange of thousands of kiloquads of data, they spoke. 

"Captain, please explain what--" Qwerty began. "--is meant by 'Croatoan,'" finished Dvorak.

Blackwood smiled slightly, recognizing his mistake in not explaining the reference. "Computer," he announced, "access all historical library files and provide contextual background on word 'Croatoan,' with emphasis on the following parameters: 'Roanoke', 'Raleigh,' and 'John White.'"

"Working," responded the computer in a pleasing voice. "Report complete. In the Earth year 1587, Sir Walter Raleigh of the nation-state England dispatched settlers, led by John White, to the colony he established on Roanoke Island, in what is now called 'North Carolina.' Due to deteriorating relations with the indigenous tribes, Governor White returned to England to request assistance. However, war between England and Spain prevented White from returning until 1590, at which time he found the colony deserted and all fortifications dismantled. The only indication of the colonists' whereabouts were letters carved into a palisade: 'C-R-O-A-T-O-A-N.'"

"Thank you, computer, that will be all." Blackwood stood up from his chair and circled the room. "The lost colony of Roanoke was never found. Even now, nearly eight hundred years later, their fates remain a mystery, and the significance of 'Croatoan' is still unknown. Were the colonists saying they relocated to Croatoan Island? Were they taken in, and assimilated, by the Croatoan people? We don't even know if it was the colonists who left the message."

Tirava desperately hoped to bring the conversation back to its real subject. "Well, if these...Spainians...were at war with England, perhaps _they_ destroyed the colony. Maybe the same thing happened here--Selenia II is dangerously close to the Romulan Neutral Zone--"

Blackwood dismissed this line of reasoning. "Ah, but Governor White had told the colonists to leave behind a particular symbol--a Maltese cross--if anything had happened to them. No such cross was ever found, only the word 'Croatoan.' Oh, many speculated that the missing people were slaughtered by one of the Native American tribes. But even if that happened, for all we know their attackers had some justification, some provocation."

"Sir," Carvalho jumped in, "are you suggesting the New Harmony colonists might have brought this upon themselves?"

"I'm suggesting nothing, Lieutenant, except that we keep an open mind. That...cube out there is our Croatoan, and we need to learn all we can about it. It may represent some intelligence that doesn't understand our culture, how we live...or how we die. It may not fathom why we would be concerned with our fellow man. This lack of knowledge is not a crime. It is the reason we explore the galaxy. And perhaps...that's what this life force is doing as well...seeking out new life and new civilizations..."

The captain's monologue was interrupted by the chime of the comm system. "Bridge to Captain Blackwood. Uhh...this is Ensign Stone, sir. Sensors just picked up a small shuttle that...that appears to have emerged from the cube!"

"A shuttle?" Blackwood was confused by such a pedestrian thing coming from the monolithic cube. "Ensign, run it through the computer's ship recognition protocols...see if it--"

"Sir, we already have, and it doesn't match any known configuration, but..."

"Well? out with it, man!"

"Hull composition and power signatures are consistent with scattered reports of...the _Ferengi_."

At the mere mention of the word, everyone in the briefing room snapped to their feet, ready for anything. Without even looking for the concern visible on Blackwood's face, Commander Hardcastle knew what orders to give. "Red alert! Shields up, all hands to battlestations! This is not a drill!"


	7. Chapter 7

"The shaking stopped." Nathan Jimenez emerged from the engineering crawlspace of the _Hrunting_ with the news.

Sitting a few feet away, tapping absently at a console, Doctor Ijhel was less than impressed. "Very good, Ensign. Starfleet Academy would be so proud of you."

"What I mean," he continued, "is that I wonder what happened. Do you think Commander Kreighen sabotaged the Borg somehow?"

"He's an...intriguing fellow," she granted, "but I doubt he'd find a destabilized Borg ship and sabotage it to _not_ tremble."

"I guess so." Jimenez sat there in the hatchway for several seconds, before breaking the silence again. "Any update on Tirava?" 

The Cardassian shot him a look. "Ensign, you've asked me that eight times over the past hour."

"Well, I've been doing repairs below deck most of that time. How am I supposed to know there's no word?"

"Because," she sighed, "if Ajax were to rush out of the aft section and dramatically announce the results of his ministrations, I would leap down the Jefferies tube, climb over plasma conduit and power node alike, until I could personally deliver the news."

"All right, all right..."

"I must say, I'm disturbed by your complete lack of faith that you'll receive pertinent information as soon as it's available. Do all humans behave this way?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess...well, she's my friend, and I can't stop worrying about her. I'm anxious to get an update and I don't want to take a chance that I missed it."

"Mm...that is consistent with human traits that I've noticed over the years," Ijhel determined. "Now, I for one refuse to let the waiting get to me. Don't get me wrong--I'm fond of the lieutenant as well. But her fate won't change because I'm kept appraised of it. Besides, I suspect she'd be mortified at the thought of me fretting over her."

"Yeah? Well, she'll be mortified anyway, because I'll fret for the two of us whether she likes it or not."

"Very consistent," she smiled. "You're a credit to your people, Ensign."

To their surprise, the door to the aft section of the shuttle whisked open, and Ajax emerged with his other patient. Commander Kreighen looked tense and exhausted, but he was alive and unharmed from his meeting with the Borg, and by that standard it was cause for celebration. Ajax, however, was hardly celebrating. "Sir, your body isn't built for the kind of continuous stress you're putting yourself through. You have to take a break, or you'll--"

"There's no time for that, Sergeant," Kreighen grumbled. "Just give me something to get me through."

"I already did, to get you through a brush with brain death! I've already gambled with your life once, I can't do it again. I took an oath to do no harm--"

"Your oath," the commander snapped back, "is to defend the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets and obey the officers appointed over you!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Ijhel could quickly see the situation was getting out of hand, and as the only civilian present she would be the only one willing to break it up. "I know exactly which oaths the sergeant is 'sworn' to, because I had to hastily patch them together the _first_ time our merry band ran afoul of the Borg. Ever since that commotion, I've never had a chance to test for interface collision in his holomatrix. Frankly, I am terrified that at any moment my prototype is going to suffer a cascade failure from playing doctor and solider at the same time. On top of that, we have an injured comrade resting in the next room. So I suggest we pacify our rhetoric."

The hologram stared at his programmer in shock. "'Interface collision?' _Now_ what have you done to me?"

"Ah, there we are," Ijhel huffed. "Displaying belligerence towards me has been thoroughly tested and should be quite safe."

Kreighen grabbed Ajax's shoulder before he could storm towards his creator. "Enough. Utana's right. What matters right now is that I don't have time to sleep off the tricordrazine. The only chance we have to get out of this is for me to maintain a dialogue with the Borg."

"Dialogue?" Jimenez asked. "What did you say to them?"

Kreighen brought them up to speed. "You know the ship that attacked us, and the quasar we hid in to get escape them? Well, we're still in that quasar, because the Borg are hiding from the same ship. 'Species 10538.' If you felt the explosions earlier, that was them. I convinced the Borg that we need each other to get out of here alive."

"Convinced the Borg?" Ijhel was incredulous. "And you take them at their word?"

"I trust them to do what's in their best interest, Doctor," he explained. "Right now their only option is to see what we can do to help them, based on what we learned about 10538 from our last engagement."

"Our 'last engagement' was them shooting at us, and us barely getting away with our aft in one piece," Jimenez noted. "Do we really have anything on these guys that the Borg don't?"

"I was...vague about that with them." The commander hung his head, and grinned in spite of himself. "But even if the Borg have more experience with this species, that doesn't mean they've collected much data--their sensor sweeps don't actively gather as much raw information as Starfleet. We expect to have to compile and analyze our readings later; they expect to have already assimilated the target before it comes to that. I'm hoping our edge in lateral thinking will be enough to convince the Collective that we're an asset on this mission."

"And after the mission?" Ijhel pressed. "I suppose they just let us go on our way?"

"I'm not counting on that any more than you, Doctor. But we can't cross that bridge until we come to it. We'd never get a hundred kilometers out of the Muarasaki field before that ship would finish what it started. As long as it's out there, the Borg need us and we need them."

Ajax nodded and resigned himself to the reality of the situation. "What are your orders, Commander?"

"First things first," he answered. "Ijhel, I need all the shuttle's sensor readings from our encounter with 10538 downloaded into Ajax. He's the only one who can process all that data quickly enough to make the Borg believe we know what we're talking about. Ensign, I expect they're going to ask us to help them build a weapon; you're on standby in case we need technology that we can't let them access. Ajax, as soon as you've downloaded the _Hrunting_ logs, you're with me---since Tirava's down you're the closest I have to a tactical officer."

"But sir--!" Ajax caught his own tone and shrunk away from his superior. "...Respectfully, sir, Lieutenant Tirava will need round-the-clock medical attention, especially if there's going to be a battle. I'm needed here."

"I wish I could let you stay," Kreighen said somberly. "But until this is over, nobody goes anywhere alone, myself included. And I'll need you to help me deal with the Borg." He turned back to Jimenez. "Nathan, I want you to get three of the other instances of Ajax's program out of storage. Sergeant, you'll brief them on the situation and issue orders--one stays with Jimenez, one stays with Ijhel, and the third is on medical duty with Tirava."

"Understood," Jimenez replied. He motioned for Ajax to follow him into the crawlspace below the foredeck, where the rest of the "hollow men" were stored in portable emitters.

Ijhel was already linking her holo-imaging kit to the main computer. "Commander, it'll take some time to adapt the files for Ajax's matrix, but I should have it ready within the hour. Am I going to be needed for anything else in your Borg co-venture?"

Kreighen looked her over. "Doctor, how are you feeling? You were in rough shape after you were exposed to those nanoprobes last month..."

"That?" Ijhel was confused by the reference. "I feel fine now--certainly better than you, or Tirava, or even Ajax. Oh, the Federation anti-Borg vaccines nearly killed me, trying to keep me from becoming a drone, but that was _weeks_ ago--"

"--And the effect is still life-threatening to Cardassian physiology. At least, that's how the Borg will hear it."

At this she immediately cleared her throat. "I see, sir. Yes, I... _*cough*_...don't think I'm in any condition to hold up my end of our new alliance."

"It's just as well," he hinted, "because I realize you don't trust our new Borg friends. If you'd been in good health, you might have gone behind my back to develop a way to stop them from betraying us..."


	8. Chapter 8

An hour earlier, the assimilation bay which held the _Hrunting_ had echoed with the footsteps of a thousand Borg drones and the piercing whir of a billion servomechanisms. But now, as Commander Kreighen and Sergeant Ajax stepped out of the shuttle, they were greeted with an eerie silence. The probe ship now seemed as lifeless as the casket it resembled.

"They must be regenerating," Kreighen quietly speculated as they walked through the empty corridors. Borg ships were known to enter a collective torpor, with major operations suspended and most of the crew entering their rest cycles to focus the hive mind on repair work. The phenomenon was rarely observed--in the unlikely event that a Borg vessel sustained enough damage to require such drastic measures, it was probably under attack from someone looking to immediately finish the job.

"The damage must have been more extensive than you indicated," Ajax commented.

The commander was visibly upset. "Keep it down!" he whispered.

Ajax was obedient, but confused. "Commander," he responded, his voice lowered, "they _know_ we're here."

"I know, but..." He struggled to explain his outburst. "When it's this quiet it _feels_ like we're in danger, like there's something to hide from. Instinct, I guess."

"I wouldn't know," the holographic man admitted. "Are they _all_ asleep?"

"No, they'd need at least a skeleton crew to regulate the power distribution," Kreighen explained. "But that might only be two dozen drones out of a thousand. Our best bet is to head to the ship's atrium--wait for them to talk to us."

They continued in silence for another fifteen minutes, with no more than a tricorder to keep track of the correct path through the industrial labyrinth. Along each corridor were hibernating drones. Males, females, and undoubtedly other gender roles both known to him and not. They were of all shapes and sizes--at least, shapes and sizes that fit into the standard Borg alcoves. Some had unblemished faces, as if at any moment their faces might light up to carry on a human conversation. Others had heads completely riddled with implants, their mouths sealed shut with black exo-plating. There were no children in plain view--if any were aboard, they were locked away in maturation chambers, until they reached the Borg standard for adulthood.

Each figure had the same ashen gray complexion, the same putrid texture to their flesh, the same hairless craniums, and no doubt the same colorless eyes. Kreighen had only been thirteen when the Collective first attacked Earth, and the image of Jean-Luc Picard, rebuilt and reprogrammed into the Borg "spokesman" Locutus was forever etched into his memory. Since then he had often wondered why such a dispassionate people, dismissive of anything "irrelevant," would be so concerned with altering their victims cosmetically. His best guess was that there was more to assimilation than turning people into soulless cyborgs--that they literally sought to remake alien cultures to resemble their own. The Borg had to have come from somewhere, and it was plausible that "Species 1," whatever that might have been, was a smooth-headed, gray-skinned race.

Judging from his personal experience, most people in the Federation never got that deep into the why of it. Picard was altered into a mockery of human form simply because it demoralized and desecrated humanity. Evil for the sake of evil. But Kreighen couldn't accept that. The Borg, like any society, were not driven by good or evil but by their culture, however horrific and alien it might seem to outsiders. This did not absolve them, but it helped to explain them more thoroughly than simplistic platitudes.

What, exactly, Borg culture _was_ still defied conventional sociology. But Kreighen felt as though his earlier conversation with the hive had begun to shed light on them as a people. Whether driven by the aggregate will of their collective or by an insidious root command, the Borg sought to improve themselves, just like humankind. They had an unshakable faith in their eventual ability to attain perfection. Unsatisfied with this, they sought to actively accelerate the spread of their way of life. They seemed almost concerned that individuals might die before being assimilated; this apparently tied in with their sense that their collective consciousness preserved each drone's mind after death. Transcendence, eschatology, proselytism, soteriology, monopsychism--the principles of the Borg "religion" were still vague to him, but they revealed something resembling a true civilization instead of a two-dimensional boogeyman. And that was key--unlike the boogeyman, a civilization could be defeated.

"LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JACOB KREIGHEN, WE MUST NOW ADAPT TO WITHSTAND SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT. YOU MUST COMPLY."

It was not the first time the Borg had suddenly ended a long silence with their booming voices, and not the first time this had rattled Kreighen's nerves. But this time he had truly not expected them to speak for hours, and in his present condition he was in no shape to take such a sudden shock. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest and sank to one knee, struggling for breath.

Ajax was immediately scanning him with a medical tricorder. "You just had a surge of adrenaline," the sergeant diagnosed. "Between that and your blood pressure, your heart literally stopped for a moment. Try to relax, Commander..."

"EXPLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING."

"Wha's...happening," Kreighen angrily gasped, "is you scared...piss out of me!"

"THERE IS NO NEED FOR APPREHENSION. YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED."

"I know..." With help from Ajax, he began to lie down on the deckplate. "It's just...just...you were regenerating...got so quiet...on edge..."

"There doesn't appear to be any damage to the muscle itself..." Ajax reported.

"YOU BECAME DISORIENTED BECAUSE IT WAS QUIET," the Borg concluded.

Kreighen held his head up, despite Ajax's best efforts. "Guess...that's about right."

"YOU COULD NOT HEAR OUR VOICES. WE INTENDED NO HARM. WE APOLOGIZE."


	9. Chapter 9

In the past twenty years, the Borg Collective had been the ultimate threat to the Federation. They destroyed thirty-nine ships at the Battle of Wolf 359. They had captured, mutilated, and assimilated untold innocents. They had attempted to alter time and space to prevent the Federation from resisting their advances. They had completely consumed anything of value on Bolarius IX. And now they were sorry they startled Jake Kreighen.

He was still catching his breath as Ajax tended to his palpitating heart. "Wh-what do you mean, you apologize?"

"WE DID NOT INTEND TO CAUSE HARM BECAUSE YOU COULD NOT HEAR VOICES," the collective explained.

"Since when do you care about harming anybody?" Kreighen tried to sit up, but Ajax would have none of it. "I thought that was all irrelevant."

"WE INTEND NO HARM. WE MUST NOW ADAPT TO WITHSTAND SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT. YOU MUST COMPLY."

"You first!" he insisted. "The Borg don't express _remorse_! You've killed millions, you've assimilated whole civilizations against their will. None of that bothered you, so why me?"

"DEATH IS IRRELEVANT. WILL IS IRRELEVANT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOU WILL ASSIST US."

"Dammit, it's like trying to get information out of a Pakled!"

"SPECIES NINE FIVE ZERO ONE TWO WAS DEEMED UNWORTHY OF ASSIMILATION--"

"Shut up!" Kreighen interrupted. "Hold on...that's it, isn't it? The Borg can't survive in isolation--even when precautions are taken to prevent malfunctions in their implants, the psychological effects can be just as devastating. To you, that's _worse_ than death or assimilation."

"DEATH IS IRRELEVANT. ALL WILL BE ASSIMILATED. SILENCE IS UNACCEPTABLE."

"You're not sorry you caught me off-guard, you're sorry you left me alone without any voices to keep me company."

"WHEN YOU ARE ASSIMILATED, THERE WILL BE THOUSANDS OF VOICES WITH YOU, ALWAYS."

He decided to take this as far as he could. "But I don't _want_ to be assimilated."

"WHAT YOU WISH IS IRRELEVANT."

"Because you don't want me to suffer--by your definition. Experiencing silence, wasting effort in futile resistance, dying apart from your immortal perfection."

"YOUR QUALITY OF LIFE WILL BE RAISED."

"And why do _you_ get to decide what's best for _me_?"

"WE ARE BORG."

"That's not good enough! Before you can waltz into somebody's backyard and start telling them how to live, you have to persuade them that your way of life is superior."

"PERSUASION IS IRRELEVANT. YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF OUR AGREEMENT."

"What? What are you--?"

"YOU ARE SMALL," the Borg elaborated, "AND YOU THINK IN SMALL TERMS. YOU ARE ADVERSARIAL AND HYPOCRITICAL. YOU WASTE TIME ENGAGING US OVER TRIVIAL MATTERS. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. IF YOU CONTINUE TO RESIST US YOU WILL BE PUNISHED."

It was a diplomatic setback, but Kreighen decided it was an intriguing one. He might have expected the Borg to abandon their alliance, but instead they were trying to enforce its terms. In spite of their frustration with him, they still considered him an asset to the mission, and he could use that.

But he had to know. "Hypocritical?"

"YOUR ARCHAIC CULTURE CONDEMNS US FOR OUR UNILATERAL POLICY, EVEN AS YOU VIOLATE OUR SOVEREIGNTY."

"Bull _shit_." Kreighen pushed past Ajax and leapt to his feet. "You think I _want_ to be in your territory? My government wouldn't even be in the same _quadrant_ as the Borg, if you hadn't assimilated Bolarius IX!"

"YOUR SOCIETY HAS REPEATEDLY ABDUCTED THE BORG AND REMOVED THEIR VOICES FROM THE COLLECTIVE. YOU ARE ILLEGALLY DETAINING A BORG DRONE WITHIN YOUR SHUTTLE."

Kreighen balled his hands into fists. "You sons of bitches--"

"Commander," Ajax pleaded, "you need to calm down--"

"Tirava is _not a drone_. She is a citizen of the United Federation of Planets and you captured her in an unprovoked attack--!"

"ELEVEN OF SIXTEEN, MAINTENANCE UNIT EIGHT FOUR OF SYSTEM SEVEN SEVEN TWO THREE CEASED TO BE 'TIRAVA' AT TIME INDEX--"

"Just because you forced her to be a drone doesn't mean she ceased to be a Federation citizen!"

"YOU ARE ILLEGALLY DETAINING A BORG DRONE, FORCING IT TO FUNCTION AS A SMALL, IMPERFECT INDIVIDUAL. ELEVEN OF SIXTEEN, MAINTENANCE UNIT EIGHT FOUR OF SYSTEM SEVEN SEVEN TWO THREE, IS STILL A PART OF US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."

It infuriated him to have to even debate this. But he could feel his heart pounding again--along with his throat and his temple--and he reminded himself that Ajax had good reason to coddle him. He breathed deeply, slowly, and tried to let go of the rage. The Borg would never appreciate his anger--they could scarcely comprehend that they could not steal something and claim it as their own. And yet, it was enlightening to see that it truly offended them whenever the Federation had liberated their drones. The Borg, like any society, demanded to be treated by their own standards, whether other societies understood those standards or not. Borg morality was totally incompatible with that of the Federation, but the same had been said of the Klingons and the Ferengi. Then again, the Ferengi were never so impenetrable.

Kreighen felt his body shudder, and initially thought that his heart might be doing somersaults in his chest, until he realized the entire deck was shaking beneath his feet. "What's happening?" he demanded of the Borg. "What are you doing?"

"WE ARE RETURNING TO OUR PREVIOUS COORDINATES, WITHIN SENSOR RANGE OF SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT. THEY ARE RESUMING THEIR RESISTANCE."

"But we moved closer to the quasar to _avoid_ their attacks!" Kreighen explained, for what felt like the tenth time. "Why would you go back?"

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOU WILL CEASE ENGAGING US WITH YOUR SMALL THOUGHTS. IF YOU DO NOT ASSIST US, THIS VESSEL WILL BE DESTROYED. YOU MUST COMPLY."


	10. Chapter 10

> Captain's Log, stardate 39133.65.
> 
> The mystery of the New Harmony colony, and the strange cube found in orbit of the planet, has deepened with the discovery of a connection to the Ferengi. Starfleet knows little about this species, but their military and technological capabilities are estimated to be generally equal to our own. Is it possible that they could have constructed this massive "Croatoan?" We cannot afford to take that chance. The sparse intelligence we have on their race suggests they operate as a loose alliance of freebooters, no doubt resembling the Viking raiders of ancient Earth. Even if their business in Selenia system was purely commercial, there may be reason to suspect that they might have...devoured the colonists alive.
> 
> The _Tombaugh_ is at full alert, prepared for any contingency. Let the courage of her crew be forever noted in this log entry.

Blackwood sat deep in the captain's chair, gripping the armrests as if to crush them in his bare hands. He'd had his fill of war in the Cardassian border skirmishes, but he would be damned if he'd allow his ship to fall into the hands of the Ferengi. "Tactical status," he requested.

"Phasers charged and ready," Tirava reported from tactical. "Photon torpedoes armed. Shields at full strength. The shuttle has broken orbit, traveling at one-eighth impulse, heading oh-three-two mark oh-eight-four."

"They're trying to keep the _Croatoan_ between us," Hardcastle determined.

Carvalho weighed in from ops. "Sir, I'm detecting two life signs aboard the shuttle."

"How can that be?" Blackwood demanded. "Sensors barely detected anything within the cube."

Qwerty and Dvorak explained. "The cube is emitting an--" "--unusual subspace field--" "--which may be--" "--confusing the sensors."

"Definitely reading two humanoid life forms," Carvalho continued. "The shuttle has minimal armaments, and going by Starfleet specs, their engine shouldn't be able to go much faster than warp two."

"Recommend attack pattern lambda, Captain" Tirava suggested. "Hit them fast, render them defenseless, sort it out later."

He mulled it over. "Prudent in the short term, Lieutenant. But if the Ferengi are as deadly as we've been led to believe, we risk starting a war against a relentless enemy. Helm, break synchronous orbit and set a new course toward the northern polar region, half impulse."

"Sir," Ensign Stone protested, "at that speed we'll pass the north pole before--"

"You have your orders, Mister Stone, carry them out." Blackwood leaned back in his chair, watching on the viewscreen as the _Tombaugh_ sailed over Selenia II, quickly crossing the entire northern hemisphere and leaving the cube behind. Once the starship was beyond the pole, neither the _Croatoan_ nor the planet blocked its view of the shuttle. "Break orbit now, ahead full!" The gravitational slingshot effect helped the sublight drive hurl the _Tombaugh_ directly into the path of the shuttle, which predictably veered off-course to avoid a collision. 

"Tirava, lock on a tractor beam," the captain ordered. "That should test their defenses without any overt aggression from our part. Any change in the cube, Carvalho?"

"No change, sir" Carvalho confirmed. "It should be able to detect what's happening to the shuttle, assuming there's anyone there to notice."

Hardcastle turned to Blackwood with a theory. "Sir, what if these two Ferengi--if they _are_ Ferengi--were the only ones ever aboard the cube? Or the only ones left? Perhaps the reason we're not detecting anything in _Croatoan_ is that there's nothing left to detect."

"Possible." The captain rose from his seat to tour his bridge and weigh his options. Unless the cube elected to retaliate--and there was no indication that it could even do so--he was left with nothing but an impotent little shuttle caught trying to sneak away. Compared with the thought of a bloody firefight with a Ferengi "secret weapon," this outcome was ideal. But in all other respects, it left his mission frustrated. His search for answers had only brought him more questions. Why would the Ferengi, or anyone, put themselves in this predicament so close to established Federation territory? If they derived no special tactical advantage from the cube, then what in blazes were they doing with it? More than ever he needed information...information that he suspected the Ferengi could provide. "Open hailing frequencies."

With a nod from Tirava, he began his statement. "Unidentified shuttlecraft, this is Captain Arthur Blackwood of the Federation starship _Tombaugh_. We mean you no harm. However, this planet, which we call 'Selenia II,' is the subject of an ongoing investigation; you will not be permitted to leave until certain questions have been answered to my satisfaction. In the interests of galactic peace, we ask that you identify yourself, and cooperate fully with our efforts." Glancing back to Tirava, he advised her, "Transmit on all frequencies and in all language forms."

"Aye, sir," the Andorian acknowledged. Within seconds, she was receiving a answer. "They're responding--audio only."

A brash, monstrous voice filled the bridge. "THE INTERESTS OF GALACTIC PEACE DO NOT INTEREST US AT ALL, FEDERATION VESSEL N-C-C THREE EIGHT FIVE THREE! WHAT WOULD IT PROFIT US TO COMPLY WITH YOUR 'INVESTIGATION?'"

"First of all, I presume I am speaking to a member of the Ferengi race," Blackwood replied. "Secondly, consider that you at our mercy, and in no position to defend yourselves."

"IF YOU REFER TO YOUR UNPROVOKED ATTACK WITH YOUR TRACTOR BEAM, WE ARE NOT IMPRESSED. THE FERENGI WILL DIE TO THE LAST ONE OF US BEFORE YOU SEIZE OUR PROPERTY BY FORCE!"

"That would not serve my purposes," the captain admitted, "so allow me to propose an alternative. I am prepared to send a delegation--what we call an 'away team'--to your shuttle to discuss the situation. You would be free to receive us in whatever manner you wish."

"HAHAHAHA," the Ferengi voice chortled. "AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK WE WOULD NOT SLIT YOUR THROATS THE MOMENT YOU CAME ABOARD?"

"Because you've made it clear you are motivated by profit. Hostages are more valuable than corpses."

"AN AMUSING NOTION, BLACKWOOD-CAPTAIN. YOU _INVITE_ US TO HOLD YOUR CREWMEN FOR RANSOM?"

"I'm inviting you to meet with us and consider what we have to say. I would strengthen your bargaining position merely as incentive."

"YOUR CULTURE IS BOTH ALIEN AND TWISTED TO US," the Ferengi concluded. "YOU PUT YOURSELF IN A POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS AND THEN GIVE _US_ LEVERAGE. YOU ARE AS TREACHEROUS AS A RAZOR-TOOTHED GREE-WORM, FEDERATION VESSEL. LET US HOPE YOUR 'AWAY TEAM' IS JUST AS SUCCULENT." The transmission was abruptly closed at the source.

Hardcastle stood and began directing traffic. "Tirava, Carvalho, Stone, you're with me--"

"Lieutenant Tirava is with _me_ , Mister Hardcastle," Blackwood objected. "Two Ferengi in the shuttle, two members of the away team. We don't want to alarm them."

The younger man swallowed his irritation before questioning these orders. "Sir, with all due respect, you've already put yourself at unnecessary risk once today, on the planet's surface. The captain's place is on the bridge, and the first officer's duty is to make sure of that."

"Not this time," the captain insisted. "You heard the Ferengi--this plan is so perilous that they were practically warning me not to go through with it. I have to see it through personally. And if anything happens to me, you'll be needed here."

"Captain, I _cannot_ allow you to go over there," the commander pushed back. "That just gives the Ferengi the most valuable hostage they could hope for."

"That's very much the point, Mister Hardcastle. The Ferengi see themselves as businessmen, so I'm going to make them an offer they cannot refuse."


	11. Chapter 11

> Captain's Personal Log, supplementary.
> 
> I have convinced the Ferengi to allow me aboard their shuttle, where I will attempt to gain more information about the ongoing mystery of New Harmony Colony. I admit I cannot easily dismiss the sense of dread I feel as I prepare to face what may be the single greatest threat to the Federation. I take solace in knowing that, should anything happen to me, the _Tombaugh_ will continue with Hardcastle as captain.

Captain Blackwood stepped into Transporter Room One to find his weapons officer waiting for him. Tirava was loaded for bear with a type-3 phaser rifle and a type-2 sidearm. "Ready for departure, sir," she proclaimed.

"This is a diplomatic envoy, Lieutenant," the captain insisted. "If we go, we go unarmed."

Tirava took a deep breath and grimaced. "Captain, the Ferengi are capable of anything. As chief of security, I _have_ to keep you safe!"

"And I've no doubt that you will, Tirava," Blackwood answered, "but our mission is to get the Ferengi to tell us what they know about the colony and the _Croatoan_. If you're forced to open fire, the mission will have already failed whether you hit anything or not." He looked to the transporter chief. "Mister Welch, collect the lieutenant's armaments and see to it that they're returned to storage."

Grumbling, Tirava surrendered the phasers as Blackwood stepped onto the transport pad with her. "With all due respect, sir," she muttered, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I, Lieutenant," Blackwood replied stoically. "Mister Welch, energize."

In less than five seconds, the two officers dematerialized aboard the _Tombaugh_ and rematerialized in the aft compartment of the Ferengi shuttle. The Ferengi themselves were nowhere to be found, but their cargo was in plain view. Tirava quickly activated her tricorder and began taking readings.

Blackwood carefully stepped through the piles of seemingly random objects. "What do you make of it, Lieutenant?"

"Hard to tell...the compounds in this debris could have been components from shelters, farming implements...it might have come from the colony. Wait..." Tirava held the tricorder up and began to wander towards the source of her new readings. "The colonists rejected the use of technology, but they must have had a ship in case they needed to send for assistance."

"Either that or a subspace transceiver," the captain added.

"Definitely a ship," the Andorian confirmed. She pulled away chunks of duranium, to reveal what she'd been after. "Because this is what's left of its food replicator. It's definitely Federation issue, Captain--from a _Whorfin_ -class transport. 

"Then the question is, if they're capable of disposing of everything else from the colony so neatly, why keep this wreckage here?"

"You there!" A hatch had slipped open behind Blackwood and Tirava, allowing the Ferengi to emerge from the forward half of the shuttle. So far as either officer knew, they were the first Federation citizens to see these people in person, and all of their expectations were defied. Each of them was no more than a meter and a half tall, with orange skin, shark-like teeth, and gigantic ears comprising half their heads. They crouched like chimpanzees, and didn't so much walk into the room as they leapt about. The lead Ferengi was protesting furiously. "You! Ugly! Verrrry ugly, hyoo-mon, this deception of yours!"

"Deception?" Blackwood challenged.

"Yoooou...request to meet _us_ face to face, Blackwood-Captain!" His speech and mannerisms were bizarre and overwrought. "And then instead...you _sneak_ into our cargo hold...to spyyyy on ussss!"

"On the contrary," Blackwood protested. "We had no way of knowing the configuration of your shuttle, or which section to transport into--"

"Skuxx!" The other exclaimed. "Do you seeee? He has brought one of his fee-males with him!"

"Ahhhh." Skuxx leered at Tirava intently, breathing even more heavily than before. "Sooooo...it is true that the hyoo-mons _enslaaaave_ other species...and take their fee-males with them throughout the quadrant." He approached her with absolutely no subtlety, his arms twisting in the air as he reached for her. "Exquisitely perverssse..."

Tirava's antenna pointed straight up--it was the only warning before she grabbed the Ferengi's right arm, twisting in a wristlock until he was on his knees, shrieking a piercing howl. "I didn't quite catch all of that!" she seethed. "Maybe you should repeat it, and see if my mood improves!"

"Enough! All of you!" Blackwood desperately tried to regain control of the situation. "That is an order, Lieutenant!"

She glared at him with all the fury of a purebred Andorian soldier. "Captain, if you hope to reason with these creatures you had better plan to explain the finer points of my culture."

"Oh, I intend to," he assured her, "but my priority is to learn the fates of the New Harmony colonists!"

Skuxx had yet to stop howling in Tirava's grip. The other Ferengi seemed confused and unsure of himself. "We, uh...do not know of what you...I mean... _deathhh_ comes to he who--ohhhhhh, we surrender! Mercy! Mercyyyy!"

"Zard!" Skuxx finally managed to contain his agony for a few moments. "You idiot!"

Zard crouched low, looking up to Blackwood with the heels of his palms pressed together. "I'm sorry, cousin! But they think we destroyed the colony!"

"Yes, we do," the captain confirmed, "and if I'm not mistaken, the charade you two have been putting on would have made it very difficult for the two of you to deny it. You wanted us to think you were belligerent savages, capable of all manner of atrocities. Why?"

"Because," Skuxx gasped, once Tirava released her grip, " _you_ are belligerent savages! We've heard of the hyoo-mons, roaming the galaxy, destroying economies with your...your _socialism_ \--"

Zard held his ears and hissed at the word.

"...demanding that every race you encounter adopt your ways!"

"So you presented yourselves as second-class Klingon space pirates," Tirava determined.

Skuxx stared holes through her. "It was working, wasn't it? Just about the only people that seem to resist your Federation are the Klingons and the Orion Syndicate. Ferenginar's top marketing advisers decided that the bloodthirsty marauder act would keep you from sticking your nose in our business."

"So then all of this," Blackwood said, "your remodulated voice on the comm system, your asinine behavior, and even that cube out there--it's all nothing but a fiction to frighten us into avoiding the Ferengi? Then I would suggest you have a lot to learn about humanity. Our most important policy is noninterference with other cultures, and our greatest mission is to explore the unknown and resolve unanswered questions. I dare say your little ruse will ultimately have the opposite effect on our relations with your people."

"Cube?" Zard looked to his cousin. "Does he mean--?"

"Quiet!" Skuxx growled. "You've said plenty already." Pulling himself to his feet, and keeping a safe distance from Tirava (though never letting her torso out of his sight), he made his way to Blackwood. His tone and mannerisms were no longer that of the primitive beast, but a polished businessman, looking to make a deal. "Captain, I can assure you that the Ferengi are a nonviolent people. You may not approve of our commercial practices, but we wouldn't go to all this trouble to avoid contact with you and then risk a war just to raid one of your colonies."

Blackwood was hardly persuaded. "Then explain your presence here."

"I'd like to," Skuxx nodded, "I really would. But you see, the Ferengi Commerce Authority has strict regulations about how we're supposed to deal with you hyoo-mons. Everything I've said so far is enough to have the whole Board of Liquidators breathing down my neck. And I'm sure your Colonial Fleet--"

"Starfleet," Blackwood corrected.

"Whatever. You military types are always keeping logs for every time you change course or scratch your lobes. So if I tell what I learned about your colony _when we were aboard the cube_..." Skuxx let those last words hang in the air, getting the captain's attention. "...I'd be taking quite a risk that it would get back to my government."

"Seeing as your shuttle is being held in our tractor beam, and you're suspected of crimes against the Federation," Tirava observed, "I somehow doubt you have to worry about your own government."

Skuxx suddenly had a look of forbidden pleasure on his face. "I cannot believe you allow her to speak to strange men," he told Blackwood. "It's really quite exotic. Tell me, is she... _blue_...all over?"

Blackwood saw her antennae straightening and motioned for her to stay put. "I'm sure, Mister Skuxx, that if you tell us everything you know about what has happened in the Selenia system, we could come to an arrangement on the release of your vessel. As for documentation of this incident, my crew could be...convinced to catalog their records as highly classified."

"Then we might have a deal," Skuxx smiled. "I'm beginning to like you hyoo-mons better already."

"Of course," the captain added, "if I decide you had something to do with what happened to the colonists, that arrangement would be null and void, and I would have to give my crew... _all_ of my crew...license to describe your actions today in whatever language they see fit."

The toothy grin on Skuxx's face began to shrivel, and he quickly glanced to Lieutenant Tirava, who crossed her arms and smirked at him.


	12. Chapter 12

He'd gotten cocky. Kreighen had spent the past several hours getting used to the idea that he had the Borg over a barrel. He'd forced them to admit they couldn't defeat him, and then backed them into an alliance. But for all his clever rhetoric he was just one man, and the Borg were many minds working in concert. It stood to reason that sooner or later, just one mind in that mob would outmaneuver him. Instead of preparing for that, he'd spent his time trying to understand the Collective, and now it was he who was up against a wall. The Borg wanted his help to defeat Species 10538, and they had found a way to make him hurry up and deliver. They would engage the alien ship and either benefit from his support or be destroyed.

For a moment he considered arguing with them--they had agreed, after all, that both parties would only act in accord with one another. But he suspected that would take too much time. The Borg vessel was already being buffeted by enemy fire; it would only be a few minutes before the two ships were close enough for 10538 to score direct hits, and they wouldn't need many.

"All right," he began, "we have to formulate a defense against their main weapon. What do we know about it?"

"WE HAVE INSUFFICIENT INFORMATION AT THIS TIME ABOUT THEIR OFFENSIVE CAPABILITIES," the Borg answered.

"But you must know _something_ ," he urged. "They've hit you with it several times, and you've repaired the damage. That alone would help you determine if it's an energy-based weapon or a projectile with a particular type of warhead..."

"THE NATURE OF THE WEAPON IS UNKNOWN. FULL OFFENSIVE ANALYSIS WILL BE COMPLETED AFTER ASSIMILATION."

"Fine, that tells us something too. You don't understand it because it's beyond you."

"WE ARE BORG. WHAT WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND, WE ASSIMILATE."

"But only if you think it's relevant," Kreighen observed. "If you assimilate a Romulan, you don't decide to--to...no. A Bajoran." He could barely keep up with himself, thinking of better examples to make his point. "If you assimilate a Bajoran, you don't analyze his theology for anything of use and incorporate it into your philosophy. You hear his thoughts but you only listen to what you want to know--ideas about how to enhance the technology you already use." He glanced to his holographic crewman. "You couldn't care less about Ajax because holograms are irrelevant to you, but that just blinds you to the ways the Federation has used them against you."

The Borg sounded almost restless. "THIS DISCUSSION IS POINTLESS. WE WILL NOT ASSIMILATE IRRELEVANT DATA."

"But I do," Kreighen countered, "and that's why you need me. Sergeant, what do you have on 1035--on _10538's_ weaponry from the shuttle's logs?"

"Not much more than the Borg, Commander," Ajax answered. "The _Hrunting_ managed to avoid most of their fire. What did hit us depleted our aft shields--"

Kreighen's face brightened. "So how could a Starfleet shuttle survive a direct hit from a weapon that blew a hole through a Borg interceptor? Hm? Unless it's not the same weapon. What if 109--whatever--has something that's extremely effective on the Borg, but not on more conventional targets?"

"THAT INFORMATION IS UNKNOWN AT THIS TIME."

"Then we speculate." Kreighen began to pace around the deck, his mind racing almost as fast as his heart. The pressure was beginning to wear him down. "Let's see...when I tried to hail their ship, I was hit with...something that knocked me unconscious. Me, just me, and no one else on the shuttle. Ajax, how'd they do that?"

"I don't know, sir. I couldn't find a cause medically, and the sensor logs don't show any readings correlating to your injury."

"A telepath could have done it," the commander suggested.

"It would depend on the telepath. But I don't see what that has to do with their primary weapons--"

"Because it's a medium the Borg completely disregard!" Kreighen explained hurriedly. "They're all mentally linked through cybernetic means--they have no use for telepathy." He glanced away, as if addressing the whole ship. "Right?"

"EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTION IS IRRELEVANT."

"So you don't understand it, and you can't adapt to it. The Federation is pretty vague on the science behind it as well. So both of us are easy targets for a species with telepathic weapons--we wouldn't know what hit us."

"IRRELEVANT. YOU WILL ASSIST US."

"I _am_ assisting you!"

"YOU ARE ENGAGED IN IRRELEVANT SPECULATION."

"That's how humans adapt," Kreighen argued. He knew time was running out, and he spoke more and more quickly. "We don't assimilate information, we analyze it scientifically--hypothesize, exp--" He stopped to start again. "We _observe_ , hypothesize, and experiment. A telepathic assault could do everything we've seen without leaving any obvious evidence. Suppose they did something to my mind, and I was cybernetically linked to my crew, my ship, and all my technology--the damage would look a lot like yours."

"WE ARE APPROACHING THE PERIMETER OF THE RADIATION FIELD. SPECIES ON ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT WILL HAVE A GREATER TACTICAL ADVANTAGE. HOW DO YOU PROPOSE WE ADAPT?"

"Fine, fine...fine." He slapped his commbadge. "Kreighen to Jimenez."

"Jimenez here," came the response from the _Hrunting_.

"Nathan, we need a defense, and the Borg are in an awful hurry. I mean, a defense against telepathy. That's what they're using against us. I think."

"Really? OK, if you're right, then whatever they're doing must create a psionic field. That field could be disrupted with electromagnetic interference--the Murasaki quasar should have us covered there. We'd just have to adjust the magnetic flux density surrounding the ship, to match the resonance frequency of the psionic field."

"And how do I find out the frequency?"

"I don't know...I guess...well, you drug them and run a scan while they're out," Jimenez replied. "Sorry, Jake, but the only real research on this comes from Orion slave traders trying to kidnap Betazoids."

"Understood. Kreighen out." The commander addressed the Borg. "Did you get that?"

"THE SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION IS IRRELEVANT WITHOUT THE CORRECT RESONANCE FREQUENCY."

"You 'are Borg,'" Kreighen huffed. "You figure it out."


	13. Chapter 13

The Borg were unable to detect any weapons aboard Species 10538's battleship, so there was no way to anticipate enemy fire before the damage was done. All they could do was emerge from the Murasaki field and attempt to withstand the onslaught using Commander Kreighen's theory, and Ensign Jimenez's suggestion.

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT VESSEL DETECTED," the ship's collective reported, primarily for Kreighen's benefit. "APPROACHING THIS POSITION ON AN INTERCEPT COURSE."

"We need to pull back," Kreighen demanded. "You can't just plow in like you're invincible--that won't work like it used to--"

"WE ARE BORG. WE WILL ADAPT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."

Ajax stepped up to the commander and attempted to reason with him. "Sir, they're not going to back down--all you can do now is exhaust yourself, and your heart..."

"Then what should I do?" Kreighen snapped. "Lie down in the shuttle and wait for these idiots to get us all killed?"

"If they get their nose bloodied, they'll retreat back to the quasar," Ajax argued. "They did it before."

The entire ship quaked from an explosion, just like the ones from the last engagement. "ATTEMPTING TO REMODULATE MAGNETIC FLUX DENSITY," the Borg announced.

"This isn't working," Kreighen complained. "They can't do this with trial-and-error; by the time we've taken enough shots to isolate the resonance frequency, there won't be a ship left to defend!" He ran through the corridors of the ship until he found the nearest Borg drone. "You! Ten of Clubs, or whatever your name is! Tell me what just hit us."

"Ten of Clubs" seemed to almost sneer at him. "Do not attempt to engage this drone in irrelevant discourse," it replied.

"Believe me, I don't want to distract your whole collective from the fight," Kreighen promised, "just show me the data and I'll figure out myself."

The drone stared at him blankly, but then began to comply, bringing the information up on a nearby console. "There is no useful information on the source of the damage."

"Forget the cause, what about the effects! What caused part of your ship to blow up?"

"A feedback surge in the power distribution nodes of section three four seven created a cascade overload. Failsafe mechanisms were unable to contain the buildup until it expanded to encompass fifty-four additional sections."

"ACTIVATING TRACTOR BEAM," the collective reported. "UNABLE TO LOCK ONTO TARGET."

"What would cause the distribution nodes feed back on themselves?" Kreighen was tapping the console like a woodpecker, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Could damage to Borg drones disrupt those systems?"

"Specify."

"If I wanted to disconnect a drone from the collective, I'd probably try to feed a subspace signal directly into its brain to override the Borg interlink. Take out the right drone, and you might cause damage to hundreds of key systems that it's maintaining, and whatever drones it's working with..."

Ten looked up, accessing the minds of its hive. "No subspace interference is detected."

" _They_ don't need a subspace signal!" Kreighen exclaimed. "If they're telepathic they can invade your thoughts psionically, through the organic parts of your brains. Think about it--a drone's thoughts are linked to the rest of the collective, and the collective's thoughts keep the ship running.

"Commander!" Ajax called as he chased down Kreighen. "This sort of exertion is only going to make things worse!" 

"Shut up, Ajax!" He waved off the hologram and continued giving orders to the Borg. "Adapt your drones to constantly scan for bioelectric fields and transmit their findings to the collective--whichever drones get blown up should report the resonance frequency we need to block."

"WE WILL COMPLY," the Borg acknowledged. "ADAPTATION COMPLETE. UNABLE TO TARGET VESSEL WITH CUTTING BEAM."

"Don't assimilate your chickens before they've hatched," he insisted. "We have to come up with a defense before you can press the attack--"

Species 10538 "fired" again. If Kreighen's theory was right, they were simply doing what they'd done to him hours earlier. Except that instead of shutting down a single mind, they were punching a hole in an elaborate network of minds. For all their apparent omnipotence, the Borg were downright fragile on this attack vector. Whichever drones were hit with the whammy wouldn't be surrounded by crewmembers rushing to help; they'd simply spread the effect to everything around them until the surrounding sections of the ship self-destructed. The fireball this time was close enough for him to feel the heat on his face.

"RESONANCE FREQUENCY IDENTIFIED. REMODULATING FLUX DENSITY OF ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD." It shouldn't have surprised Kreighen that the Borg would get results so quickly; what they lacked in imagination, they more than made up in speed.

"We need to test it," Kreighen explained. "Give them a chance to...reload or whatever they do, and see if they can hit us..."

"MEAN TIME BETWEEN ATTACKS IS TWO MINUTES, SEVENTEEN SECONDS BY FEDERATION STANDARD MEASUREMENT."

"Since when do Borg measure time with Federation systems?"

"WE HAVE ADAPTED THE INFORMATION FOR YOUR CONSUMPTION TO ENSURE YOUR EFFICIENT OPERATION."

Kreighen was initially baffled by the sentiment, until he recalled their earlier conversation. "To make sure I can always hear voices with me."

"YOU ARE SMALL, ISOLATED FROM YOUR COLLECTIVE."

"Frankly, your company doesn't fill me with comfort--"

"YOU ARE WELCOME," the Borg answered, much as he had responded earlier to their ingratitude. It was hard to tell if they were being sarcastic or oblivious. "SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT IS ENGAGING IN EVASIVE MANEUVERS. MOVING TO INTERCEPT--"

"Stay in the Murasaki field!" Kreighen demanded. "We need the ionic interference to maintain the right flux density."

"DETECTING NEW RESONANCE FREQUENCY, PROBABILITY OF PSIONIC DISCHARGE, NINETY-FOUR POINT THREE PERCENT." The Borg barely finished their assessment when a third explosion rocked their ship, just as before. "SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT IS ADAPTING TO OUR DEFENSES. REMODULATING FLUX DENSITY--"

"No! You can't keep up with them! We have to withdraw!"

"WITHDRAWAL IS IRRELEVANT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."

"They can _attack our minds_!" Kreighen shouted. "They can probably _read_ yours just as easily, and discover your remodulation before you complete it!"

The fourth blast came earlier than expected. It was less pronounced, lending credence to Kreighen's suggestion that Species 10538 needed time to "recharge" their telepathic weapon. But it also proved his point that the Borg could not keep pace with their attacker.

"REMODULATING FLUX DENSITY."

"Look, look...I think we can still beat them," the commander pleaded. "But you can't go toe-to-toe with these guys! We've gained valuable information but we need time to process it, prepare new tactics--"

"PREPARATION IS IRRELEVANT. WE WILL ADAPT."

" _Listen to me!_ " he yelled, his voice hoarse and cracking.

"That does it," Ajax interrupted. 

"Dammit, Sergeant, I told you to--!" 

"I will not, sir!" the hologram snapped back. "You're under extreme stress and you've becoming dangerously unstable! Commander Jacob Kreighen, under Starfleet medical regulation 121, section (a), I, the ranking medical officer, do hereby relieve you of command, effective immediately!"

"YOUR DIAGNOSTIC INSTRUMENT INDICATES YOU REQUIRE REGENERATION," the Borg commented.

Kreighen turned and yelled at the ship. "The last thing I need is a second opinion from the Borg! Now we have to retreat, or--"

The sentence died on his lips, and Commander Kreighen passed out. Sergeant Ajax caught him in his left arm, as his right hand released him from a Vulcan nerve hold.


	14. Chapter 14

Kreighen woke up swinging, with no real thought in his head beyond the raw instinct to fight back. He felt himself being held down, and struggled against it, until he came to his senses and realized he was back aboard the _Hrunting_.

He saw Ensign Jimenez and Ajax--two Ajaxes, in fact--standing over him in one of the bunks of the shuttle's aft section. "What--what happened?" he fumbled.

"You were pushing yourself too hard," Ajax--the original--began. "You wouldn't listen to reason, so I had to incapacitate you and bring you--"

"What happened in the _battle_?" Kreighen spat back at him. "The Borg have to--if they don't--"

Ajax glanced to the others and rolled his eyes. "Very well. The Borg didn't retreat as you suggested, and their ship was destroyed, with all of us on it. You're dead, Commander."

"OK..." Kreighen sat up, shrugging off Jimenez and Ajax's duplicate, and tried to control his breathing. "OK, I deserve that."

"What you deserve," Ajax continued, "is permanent scar tissue on your heart from all the damage you've put yourself through. Fortunately I managed to get you to sit still long enough to stabilize your condition. But I'm beginning to wonder if there's any use."

"Fine." the commander hung his head and tried to keep calm. "Is this lecture from my doctor or my infantry squad leader?"

" _Both_ ," Ajax replied curtly. "Not to mention your acting tactical officer. But what do you care? You'll just traipse out to argue with the Borg until a blood vessel bursts in your brain--"

" _I'm sorry_ , Sergeant," Kreighen muttered flatly. He stood up, nose to nose with the hologram, as if willing him to back off. "If that's not good enough, I regret that, but you win. The matter is closed. Is that clear?"

Ajax stood his ground for a moment, still fuming, but only for a moment. And then something in his face changed, as if he'd been unnerved by the standoff. "Yes...yes, sir."

Kreighen stepped aside and crossed the room, to check up on Tirava's unconscious form on the bio-bed. "Now," he began, "to avoid the messy question of whether I'm medically cleared to return to duty, I'm inclined to agree with Ajax that I'm overdue for a break...assuming the situation is stable."

Jimenez looked to Ajax to speak, but found the hologram staring at the floor, distracted. "All we know from in here is that the Borg aren't getting shot at right now," the ensign reported. "Ajax said the Borg retreated deeper into the Murasaki field once they realized you were out of the fight."

Ajax looked up when he heard his name, although he still sounded aloof. "Yes...they sounded almost concerned for your well-being, Commander. I don't think they wanted to proceed without you."

"That actually figures," Kreighen mused. "The Borg will slug it out until they reach a shutdown point, and then they back off to regenerate. I thought they'd let three-quarters of the ship get blown away before that happened. But...I'm a key system in their collective now, and I'm harder to replace than a drone." 

He leaned over his Andorian comrade and watched her sleep, then noticed the second hologram. "You're the one assigned to Tirava, right? Corporal...?"

"Gawain, sir," Ajax's copy answered. "She's stable, and she should recover once we bring her out of the coma. It's difficult to check for higher cognitive functions right now--the brain is such an interesting organ. However, Ensign Jimenez said she was mumbling earlier."

"Something about Ferengi," Jimenez clarified.

"As long as it's anything but the Borg," Kreighen sighed. "I've got to get her out of this."

Jimenez walked up behind him, and, after some hesitation, offered his best attempt at some reassurance. "You're gonna get all of us out of this, Commander...er...Jake. But...you can't do it all yourself. I mean, you have to let the rest of us help you help us, I--I don't know..."

He smiled slightly at the engineer. "I understand, Nathan. Feels like I've been trying to tell the Borg the same thing all day. You think you can handle them?"

The ensign was a terrible liar and didn't bother to disguise it. "Not really," he admitted. "But when we worked with Unimatrix Zero, I seemed to get along okay with the former drones who still bought into Borg philosophy. This can't be much different, except that these Borg want to assimilate me...except that they've accepted they can't."

"It's also not as if we have a choice, Commander." Doctor Ijhel emerged from the forward section, her portable workstation in tow. "From what Ajax told us when he returned, even when the Borg found an opening to attack, their weapons were ineffective against Species 10538. They need a better vole-trap, and our young ensign is the only one who can build it for them. Remembering her manners, she added, "Oh, and...welcome back."

"She's right," Jimenez told the commander. "And I've been coming up with some ideas that might help." He walked over to the lab station and pulled up his research. "When you contacted me before about telepathy, Utana and I started considering how dangerous weaponized psionics could be against the Borg."

"Same here," Kreighen nodded. "You get into one drone's mind, you have access to all of their minds, and their technology too."

"Exactly, but it works both ways." Jimenez displayed a model of a Borg network, and animated it to show signals amassing from the collective toward a single drone. "Suppose a _drone_ gets into _your_ mind. Now you have to defend yourself from thousands of minds, working as one."

Kreighen rubbed the stubble on his face, admiring the illustration. "Interesting concept, but we'd be outnumbered. Even if the Borg have any telepaths on board, we have to assume all of Species 10538 is telepathic, and there's hundreds of them on that ship working together.

"No, think about it, Jake." The engineer struggled to put it in layman's terms. "It'd be a like a rail gun. You only need one projectile--one telepath--as long as you've got a powerful enough current running through it. The Borg would all feed their mental energy into him cybernetically, and then he'd focus it psionically at the warship. Now if we could convert that telepathy into _psychokinesis_ , we'd basically have an irresistible force."

"A force we can't let the Borg keep using after this little adventure is over," Ijhel noted. "Although the tantalizing prospect of assimilating it should make them very eager to cooperate in its development."

"You can't go alone," Kreighen concluded. "I assume the other two hollow men are around here somewhere..."

Jimenez glanced downward. "Actually, I have Corporal Uriah's mobile emitter in my pocket. It was getting a little crowded."

"Benkei is in the front of the shuttle," Ijhel added. "He couldn't be dragged away--I suppose he wanted to make sure at least one guard was posted in each section."

"Good thinking," the commander said. "Nathan, you'll leave Uriah here and take Ajax with you--he's more familiar with our...negotiations so far." Looking across the room, he called to the sergeant. "Ajax! You ready to ship out?"

When the hologram looked up, Kreighen was shocked by the expression on his face. He'd essentially known Ajax for his entire existence, and in all that time the sergeant had exuded determination, obedience, loyalty, courage, and stubbornness. Now he looked...doubtful. Something was wrong with Ajax, and Kreighen realized he'd been too wrapped up in the ongoing crisis to notice it. 

"Commander," he finally answered, "respectfully...I don't think that's such a good idea."

Kreighen separated himself from Ijhel and Jimenez and took Ajax aside. "If this is about what happened earlier, Sergeant, it's--"

"N-no, sir," Ajax insisted. "But I do think I need to run a self-diagnostic. Doctor Ijhel did warn us about the risks of me operating my medical and combat subroutines simultaneously..."

"Then maybe she should have a look at you--"

"No--no! I think I should just stay here and run the check on myself--the other hollow men can help me if it's necessary. I--I think I just need to not be worrying about you or the others for a little while." He tried to regain his usual composure, as if suddenly aware that it was visibly absent. "Sir, you and the doctor should go have dinner. You haven't eaten all day, and we both know Ijhel would starve to death in front of her algorithms if not for..."

"All right, Ajax," Kreighen conceded. "But if you need her, don't be afraid to ask for help." He looked over to his crewmates. "Nathan, change of plans--you're taking Uriah with you. Doctor, I suspect you and I have some business to discuss..."

Ijhel tapped the workstation the crook of her arm. "Yes, Commander, I'm afraid we do."


	15. Chapter 15

> Captain's Log, stardate 39133.7.
> 
> My meeting with the Ferengi has left me certain that they are innocent, at least with regards to the loss of the New Harmony colony. I am left with little choice but to agree to their terms in exchange for any information about what might have occurred in Selenia system. Any detailed record on the _Tombaugh_ 's encounter with the Ferengi, including this log, shall be kept highly confidential.
> 
> I cherish the opportunity to make formal first contact with this species, even if I cannot freely divulge that fact at this time. Although the Ferengi stand revealed as an immature, childlike race--reminiscent of the self-interested capitalists of Earth's ancient history--we have been shown that our preconceptions about them were woefully misinformed. Through the triumph of our open-mindedness and reason, we have proven ourselves capable of peaceful relations with even the most backward and misunderstood culture. Perhaps one day, when the Ferengi have matured as a people, they too will enjoy these qualities and join the Federation. Until then, I must be content with their cooperation on the _Croatoan_ matter. To that end, I have invited our...new friends...to a briefing with my senior staff.

"Let me see if I've got this straight," Commander Hardcastle said as he stared at Skuxx. "You and your cousin enter the system, see a cube three kilometers wide in orbit of Selenia II, and you decide to fly your shuttle right into it?"

"Rule of Acquisition sixty-two," Skuxx shrugged. "'The riskier the road, the greater the profit.'"

"And what is a 'Rule of Acquisition?'" the first officer pressed.

"One of two hundred eight-five guiding principles of Ferengi business practices," Zard answered proudly. "You see, we don't exploit people at random like you hyoo-mons, we do it according to a strict code."

"Oh, my people are quite familiar with such codes," Captain Blackwood remarked. "The use of law to protect the right of the wealthy to trample on the poor was paramount in our civilization until only a few centuries ago. The epicenter of that philosophy was Earth's 'Wall Street,' and its zenith was the late twentieth century, which gave rise to the mantra 'Greed is good.'"

"Rule of Acquisition twenty-four!" Skuxx announced, as if by rote. "Perhaps our peoples have more in common than I originally thought." His attention wavered to Lieutenant Carvalho, sitting across the table. "Those... _clothes_ of yours. Are you _sure_ you wouldn't be more comfortable--?"

She cut him off. "We were _talking_ about the cube. How did you know you could get inside?"

He was less perturbed by the rebuff of his advancements than the thought of surrendering a trade secret. "It's an old trick I procured from a Yridian..."

Qwerty and Dvorak objected. "That is highly--" "--unlikely. Yridians have--" "--been extinct for--" "--nearly two centuries."

"Do they _have_ to do that?" the Ferengi complained to Blackwood. 

"See through lies and misdirection?" The captain beamed with pride. "Always."

"Riiight." Skuxx rolled his eyes.

Tirava's antennae perked as she confronted him. "How _did_ you get a tip from a dead man?"

"The Yridians aren't all dead," Skuxx assured her. "That's just what they want the Borg to think."

This piqued Blackwood's curiosity. "Who, pray tell, is 'the Borg?'"

"Go look at your viewscreen, Captain. That cube you're so worried about? That's the Borg. I don't know what business the Yridians had with them--my contact wasn't selling that particular information. All I do know is that the Borg travel the galaxy in their cube, looking for whatever it is they want. And when they find what they want, they take it."

Hardcastle challenged the story. "Then why did you think you could get between them and their treasure?"

"Because when a Ferengi finds what _he_ wants, he also takes it," Skuxx explained. "It just so happens that the Borg and the Ferengi aren't looking for the same things. Zard and I've been trailing this cube for months, weaving in and out of Romulan and Federation space. We've seen it stop at several planets, and leave nothing behind but dirt and rock. They'll tractor up a whole city, and then dump what they don't want into their waste reclamation systems. All they care about is whatever technology catches their fancy. You should see what they throw away--precious jewels, works of art, slightly outdated equipment..."

"They destroyed New Harmony Colony," Blackwood stated, flat and solemn. "Destroyed it, diced it into pieces, sifted out what they wanted. And you rushed in to pick the bones like some...Aldebaran jackal."

Skuxx struggled to rationalize his position. "Captain, I... _regret_ what's happened to your people, but there was _nothing_ we could have done..."

"You _could_ have alerted us that this thing was in our territory," Hardcastle sneered.

"The colonists," Blackwood muttered. "Could they still be alive aboard the Borg ship?"

"Frankly, Captain, my cousin and I don't go out of our way to explore the cube. We get in, collect whatever won't be missed, and get out."

"But you _do_ get in and get out, unharmed," the captain emphasized. "Might that also be true for others?"

The Ferengi considered the question. "The people running the ship...if you can call them people...always ignore us. Probably because they never find any advanced technology on our shuttle--that's why we use my Uncle Phrun's jalopy, to keep a low profile. The old fool sold it for only three bars of gold-pressed latinum, but..."

Skuxx looked up to notice that the senior staff of the _Tombaugh_ were all glaring at him. Tirava's antennae in particular caught his attention--they were in the same position as when she had attacked him. "...buuuut more importantly, I can use it to take your crew inside the cube to have a look around."

"Grand." Blackwood stood up from his chair, all but adjourning the conference. "Lieutenant," he said to Tirava, "tractor Mister Skuxx's vessel into the main shuttlebay."

"I recommend Qwerty, Dvorak, and Stone be assigned to the team," Hardcastle suggested. "We may need Tirava and Carvalho here, in case these Borgs don't take as kindly to us as they do the Ferengi and decide to pick a fight."

"I'll leave the crew assignments to you, Mister Hardcastle," the captain agreed. "Just so long as it's clear that I'll be leading the away team."

"Sir," the commander groaned. "We've been over this a hundred times."

"And Starfleet regulations prohibit a captain from participating in a dangerous away mission," Blackwood repeated from memory. "But this is a necessary exception, Mister Hardcastle. First contact must be handled with dispatch, and with a delicate touch. Unless we act quickly, and carefully, the Federation may find itself fending off Borg attacks for years to come. One captain's safety hardly compares to that. Dismissed."


	16. Chapter 16

Like all of the hollow men, Corporal Benkei bore a precise resemblance to Sergeant Ajax, his prototype. By their nature, each instance of Ajax's program was identical, inheriting the same subroutines and properties that comprised their artificial intelligence. Only after activation would each hologram achieve any true distinctiveness, as his individual experiences built upon the original template. Whatever experiences had affected Ajax recently, Benkei was completely unaffected, and stood watch in the foredeck of the _Hrunting_ with the same unwavering decorum as the sergeant once possessed.

When he observed Commander Kreighen entering the room from the aft section, he snapped to attention. "All clear, sir," he reported. "No sign of the Borg near the shuttle."

"At ease, Corporal," Kreighen replied casually, although he knew from experience that the hollow men barely understood the phrase. "Report to Ajax in the back. I'll contact you if you're needed."

"Very good, sir," Benkei acknowledged. As he made his way to the aft doorway, he nodded to Ijhel as she followed Kreighen. "Doctor, I'm at your disposal as well."

She paid her creation no mind as she walked past him, and began setting up her workstation. "I take it you would prefer to keep this on a 'need-to-know' basis," she mentioned to Kreighen, once the door was shut. "I entirely agree."

Kreighen just looked at her in confusion. "What was that with you and Benkei?"

"What do you mean?" she responded, absently, as she reviewed her files. "He's programmed to be polite, accommodating..."

"And you just blew him off like he wasn't there."

The Cardassian looked up and shrugged. "For all intents and purposes, he wasn't. He's only a hologram, Commander. If you're worried about his feelings, you're giving it more thought than he does. I should know."

"You don't treat Ajax like that," Kreighen observed.

"Ajax is different," she explained. "He's the prototype. To improve the overall program I interact with him regularly, in addition to the time he spends online as a member of the crew. Since I have to speak to him, he gets ample opportunity to bicker at me; the others are never given a reason to start."

"But you care about him," the commander suggested. "You spent a week cleaning out the damage Glinn Ledret did to his program--you barely ate until you were finished."

"How could I forget?" she grumbled. "He spent the same week reminding me at every opportunity. He really is quite insufferable. You should probably prepare my supper before he lectures me again about overworking myself."

"Yes, ma'am," Kreighen smirked, and he stepped over to the replicator. "What'll it be?"

"Whatever you recommend," she offered. "So long as it doesn't have your wretched congealed milk all over it."

He shrugged and addressed the food station. "Computer," he began, before getting a gleam in his eye. "Barbecue mutton, in vinegar dip, shaved, one half kilogram."

Ijhel grew concerned. "What is a mutt'n?"

"It's sort of like boiled taspar," he explained. "But gamier. Only way to eat it is barbecued."

"I suppose that partially addresses my second question," she sighed.

"Kanar to drink?"

"Ajax would never forgive me if I even let you have synthehol in your condition," she demurred. "Against my better judgement, I again defer to you."

"Grape soda, two bottles," he ordered. Seeing the mounting concern on her face, he started to chuckle. "Don't worry!"

"Humans _always_ say that." She balked as he brought over the tall dish of mutton, still warm and steaming as if fresh from an open pit smoker. After picking at it with her spoon, she finally scooped up a few shreds of the meat and cautiously placed it in her mouth. 

"Curious," she finally mumbled with her mouth full.

"High praise from _Hrunting_ 's pickiest eater," Kreighen smiled. "I'll fix us some buns and pickles, then."

Ijhel dug into the bowl and found the mutton to be more viscous and amorphous near the bottom. "If you feel it's necessary. Before I forget, I _did_ have a report for you on that fallback plan. Is there... _fish juice_ in this?"

Her wavering attention kept the commander off balance. "I...uh...that's probably the Worcestershire sauce." He sat down with buns ready for his sandwich, but found she had cut him off from the bowl. "Ahh...You were saying?"

"Mm...yes. When Ensign Jimenez and I were discussing his notion of a telepathic rail gun, it occurred to me that if the Borg all focus their thoughts against a single target, the power would be immeasurable...and if that power were even partially turned back on itself, the damage could be catastrophic. Yes...I can definitely taste some sort of fish in this...wooshteshish--?"

"You couldn't pronounce it," Kreighen assured her. "It's a place on Earth."

"Pity," she said. "One day I'll have to pay a visit. Where was I?"

"You were talking about rigging the rail gun to produce feedback," he replied. "We'd never be able to hack into their interlink frequencies, but we could overload their organic brains to achieve the same effect. They'd all lose consciousness, just like..."

"Just like when the _Enterprise_ put the Borg to sleep after the Battle of Wolf 359," Ijhel noted. "Which brings up the flaw in the plan, as I see it."

"If all the drones get taken out at once, the whole ship will self-destruct."

"You see the problem," she said between spoonfuls of barbecue. "Since we're over a thousand light years away from friendly territory, I assumed it your intent was to commandeer the Borg vessel and it's transwarp drive intact."

"That _was_ my intent," Kreighen admitted. He sighed and took a deep swig of his soda bottle. "I don't know, Utana. When I first started working with these Borg, I was just trying to stall, keep them busy talking to me until some opportunity presented itself. But the more I deal with them, the more I start to think..."

"...that they're like you, deep inside?" she guessed.

"I wouldn't go that far."

She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "Most humans would, Jake, and that's been your problem for centuries. It's why you care if I'm rude to software I wrote. You want to see your own qualities--humanity, I suppose--in a hologram, and you want to see Cardassians doing the same thing."

"We respect other cultures," he argued.

"But you _want_ other cultures to realize they're like yours. Why, you should have _seen_ the look on your face when you realized you were going to get to teach an alien all about your favorite human delicacy! My people have always found it rather cloying..." She stopped to consider the glob of mutton in her spoon. "...though I must admit there's a charm that one can grow accustomed to. But that human sentiment is fatal when handling the Borg."

"I know, I know," Kreighen answered. "Trust me, the Federation--humans and all--went into this war with their eyes wide open. We tried peaceful contact with the Borg and they tried to conquer us. We showed mercy to their injured drones and we accidentally created a violent splinter collective. We tried working with them against a common enemy and they deceived us. So we've given up on peaceful coexistence with the Borg. Every encounter has led to nothing but one side or the other gaining a tactical advantage. The only relationship we can share with them is brinkmanship. And yet..."

"And yet," she conceded, "your people used to say the same thing about the Cardassians."

"We said even _worse_!" he exclaimed. "And that was _between_ the wars. Some people said the entire concept of peace was alien to Cardassians--their brains were hardwired to enjoy sadism and cruelty. I still remember the first time I heard a racial slur-- _any_ racial slur--and it was, er...related to the shape of your forehead."

Ijhel took this in stride, and shook her head slowly. "My uncle was a gul in the Fourth Order, and he used to tell us stories about his exploits along the Federation border. He said that...that humans parents didn't love their children. And I suppose I still think about that whenever I see a human child..."

"But here we are," Kreighen insisted. "It certainly cost enough to get to this point, but I think it might have been worth it. I know it's something totally different with the Borg. But all my instincts tell me to look deeper than the surface. They're more than just relentless invaders--they have their own philosophies and hopes and fears, I think, just like humans or Cardassians. They don't want to be destroyed any more than we want to be assimilated. Maybe that's not enough common ground for us to make friends. But it feels like that should be enough to...to stop being enemies."

She let him have his say and simply added this: "It's your decision, Commander. The question is, will you negotiate with the Borg in good faith, or will you look for a way to betray them? Because I don't see how you can do both at once."

He stood up and stared out through the shuttle's canopy, into the endless Borg assimilation bay. "I'm still working on that, Doctor..."


	17. Chapter 17

"Um...hello. Borg?"

As diplomats went, Ensign Jimenez was an excellent engineer. But then, there were no formal procedures for seeking an audience with a collective consciousness fanatically opposed to the existence of outside influences. There was no wrong way to speak to the Borg, and in that sense, he found them more personable than the average Starfleet admiral. 

"WE ARE THE BORG. ENSIGN NATHAN JIMENEZ, STATE THE CONDITION OF LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JACOB KREIGHEN."

"He's, um...regenerating," Jimenez offered. "I've been sent to relieve him." 

There was a pause, and he tried desperately to fill it. "So...what's your condition?"

"REGENERATION OF THIS VESSEL IS EIGHTY-EIGHT PERCENT COMPLETE. WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS FOR STANDARD OPERATIONS. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOU WILL ASSIST US."

"Yeah, that's the plan," the engineer agreed. "I got a vague report on the enemy's defenses, but I think I need more specifics."

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT WAS ABLE TO WITHSTAND US AT OUR PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. WE WILL ADAPT. YOU WILL ASSIST US."

Jimenez wrinkled his nose and turned to his companion. "I'm beginning to see why Commander Kreighen was about to jump out of his skin," Corporal Uriah mused.

"No kidding," the ensign muttered back. The ease of that banter gave him the inspiration. Uriah was just a holographic interface for a computer program, designed to respond to external input. The Borg Collective was itself, for all intents and purposes, another program, but with a far more crude interface. The user experience was irrelevant, after all, if the program was bent on the eradication of users. But an interface was an interface. If he could run a diagnostic, he could talk to cyborgs.

"What effect did your tractor beam have on their ship?" he asked bluntly.

"TRACTOR BEAM FAILED," the Borg answered.

"Your cutting beam?"

"NO DAMAGE."

"None at all?" Jimenez asked, although he already knew the Borg would not fudge their assessment. "That's strange--did it make contact with their hull?"

"NEGATIVE."

"But you didn't pick up any energy readings indicating a deflector shield absorbing the force." He entered some data into his tricorder and began to speculate. "You know, these guys have psionic weapons, maybe they have psionic shields."

"Is that even possible?" Uriah asked.

"Not for Federation science," Jimenez replied, "but they've given the _Hrunting_ and this Borg ship a good shaking, so they must have some sort of telekinesis. That may actually work to our advantage..." He again addressed the collective. "I need a volunteer."

"ELABORATE."

"Well, I, uh, think we can develop our own telepathic weapon to defeat Species 10538. If we channel all of your thoughts through a telepathic signal, we might be able to poke a hole through their defenses. We don't have any telepathic species in our shuttle, so I thought you could let me speak to a drone--"

"IT IS UNLIKELY THAT YOU WISH TO ASSIST US. IT IS MORE LIKELY THAT THIS IS AN ATTEMPT AT DECEPTION."

Jimenez's jaw dropped. "Decep--what are you talking about?"

"IT IS A STANDARD TACTIC OF YOUR CULTURE TO MAKE A DIPLOMATIC GESTURE TO OBSCURE YOUR ULTERIOR MOTIVE OF REMOVING DRONES FROM THE COLLECTIVE. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE."

"Hold on...look," he stammered. "I'm not trying to liberate your drones. But the whole problem is that you assimilate telepaths without leveraging their abilities. If you've got one on board, he'd be more helpful if you let him loose, just until I figure out how to convert a telepathic transmission into a psychokinetic burst."

"UNACCEPTABLE. IF WE REMOVE A DRONE FROM THE COLLECTIVE, YOU WILL CLAIM IT AS AN INDIVIDUAL AND RESIST ITS REINCORPORATION."

Uriah stepped forward to offer his input. "I'm afraid they have a point, Ensign. Before the war, Starfleet-Borg engagements frequently resulted in drones being separated from the hive."

"Yeah, I get why they don't like it," Jimenez said. "But I don't see any way to compromise."

"YOU ARE ILLEGALLY DETAINING A BORG DRONE, DESIGNATION ELEVEN OF SIXTEEN, MAINTENANCE UNIT EIGHT FOUR OF SYSTEM SEVEN SEVEN TWO THREE," the Borg responded. "GIVE US ACCESS TO THIS DRONE."

"Are you talking about Tirava? I can't do that!"

"WE WOULD ALLOW YOU TO REMOVE ONE OF OUR DRONES."

The ensign was boggled by the concept, but tried to remind himself that the Borg had about as much tact as a navigational subsystem. "I know they're all the same to you, but I can't just trade one of my people for one of yours." He stared out into the abyss of the Borg atrium, and tried to come up with a solution. "If I agree to let you stay connected to your telepaths at all times, will you allow me to at least work with them face-to-face?"

The ship grew silent, as the collective considered this counteroffer. "WE ACCEPT YOUR PROPOSAL," they finally responded. Two drones immediately began approaching Jimenez and Uriah. "YOU WILL PROCEED TO GRID TWO FIVE OF SUBJUNCTION SIX FOUR, WHERE YOU WILL INTERFACE WITH THE DRONES DESIGNATED FOR THIS TASK."

Uriah grew defensive as the escorts drew closer, but Jimenez reassured him. "Relax--they're pushy, but they know we're on their side."

He became less sure of that position as they ventured deeper within the ship, as far from the _Hrunting_ as any of its crew had been during their stay. After what felt like an hour of depressing corridors, he was greeted by the sight of a large room, glowing with pure white light. There were no drones waiting for Jimenez and Uriah there, only empty space surrounded by glowing pods along the walls.

Their escorts left, and were replaced by two new drones. One was probably male, although its face was completely obscured by large ocular and respiratory implants. It walked past Jimenez to work at one of the pods. The other drone, it seemed, was tasked with direct interaction. This one had far fewer implants and armor plating, and it lacked the usual Borg pigmentation. Long, matted hair hung from its cranium, dripping with some sort of nutritive solution. It marched right up to him, looking up into his eyes. 

"I speak for the Borg," it announced. It was a girl, no more than twelve years old.


	18. Chapter 18

If Uriah was surprised by this development, Jimenez could find no sign of it on his holographic face. So the ensign alone bore the shock of the Borg sending a child to work with him. "I--I...what is this?" he tried to ask. "I guess I knew there were kids on this ship, but--"

The girl, freshly removed from Juvenile Maturation Chamber Three One, answered him as if she had spent more than twice her age living among the collective. "Your proposal requires interaction with drones representing telepathic species. This unit was assimilated from Species Three Five Seven One." She gestured to the silent adult drone. "Six of Ten, Secondary Navigational Matrix, originated from Species Eight One Nine."

"Okay," Jimenez sighed. "Let's get--"

"One additional drone is required," she interrupted. In acknowledgment, Six of Ten interfaced with one of the illuminated compartments along the walls of the room. The compartment opened, revealing itself to be a standard Borg neonatal incubation pod. Six of Ten reached in and removed a humanoid infant, wrapped in a metallic blanket and already riddled with Borg implants. The child was largely silent, save for the rare gurgles and coos that reminded Jimenez that it was not merely another drone. 

"Species Seven Two Five Six," the girl presented. "You may begin."

The ensign was still struggling to accept all of this. "I...didn't think the Borg let you out of the maturation chambers until you were fully grown."

"The situation requires us to adapt," she answered curtly. "Proceed."

Jimenez could tell their patience was limited. _Don't think of them as children_ , he reminded himself. _Don't even think of them as people. You're talking to the ship's computer, running some tests. You do it all the time._ "All right, I guess we need to flex your telepathic muscles and create some psionic fields, so I can work out a way to remodulate them into psychokinetic force." He held up his tricorder and scanned the three drones. "Start, um, thinking. In this direction."

The girl looked almost petulant. "This exercise is pointless. Your instructions are vague."

"Look," he argued, "I'm not telepathic, so I don't know how to tell you to use an ability I've never possessed. If I had 'un-borged' telepaths to work with--people who'd spent their whole lives training to use these powers--they'd already know what to do besides saying 'irrelevant' and 'assimilate' a lot."

She glared at him defiantly, or as defiantly as she could without betraying the cold Borg facade. But she, or rather, the entire collective controlling her, knew this was the only way, and so she backed down and closed her eyes, along with the other two drones. Lights on their cranial implants began to flash and flicker, indicating changes in various neural activities.

Jimenez's tricorder soon detected the psionic field he was looking for. "OK, good, I'm reading fluctuations in your bioelectric fields, consistent with telepathic signals. Attempting to change the resonance frequency..."

He stumbled backwards, losing his balance and almost falling over before Uriah rushed to catch him. "I'm all right," he explained. "I think we just had a successful first test. Thought translated into kinetic energy."

"Then we are ready to implement the full-scale weapon," the Borg girl declared.

"This is no time for standard Borg tactics," Uriah rebuked. "Normally you can afford to proceed immediately after a small modification, because if it fails you have another drone or another ship waiting for the next attempt. But this is the only ship you have that can benefit from our help. You can't risk losing it."

"It's going to take time," Jimenez agreed. "Even if I can really translate a ship full of interlinked Borg thoughts into a psychokinetic wave, we have to adjust that wave to concentrate the most force onto the smallest area." He adjusted his tricorder and placed a hyperspanner on the deckplate. "Try again, and focus on the spanner."

"This delay is intolerable," the girl remarked.

"Hey, it's just gonna take longer if you don't focus."

"This drone is directing its full attention on the hyperspanner," she explained. "We are capable of speaking to you at the same time."

"Got it," he muttered as he tinkered with the psionic field harmonics. "So...does 'this drone' have a name?"

"Personal identification is irrelevant," she quipped.

"Your designation, then."

"A drone does not receive its designation until it is released from the maturation chamber and assigned a function. Upon completion of this mission, this unit will be replaced in its maturation cycle until adulthood."

"I see." Jimenez stepped away from her as he continued to monitor the telepathic activity. "So...Six of Ten. I don't suppose there's any relation to Two of Six..."

"Elaborate," the girl responded, since Six of Ten clearly could not.

"Just a joke," the ensign explained. "Two of Six was a former drone I met a couple of months ago, in Unimatrix Zero."

"Two of Six, Auxiliary Maintenance Unit of Sphere One One Zero," she specified. "Assimilated from Species Four Zero Two twenty-four years ago, female. Separated from the collective eight years ago."

"That...that was her." Jimenez was unexpectedly stunned. It should have come as no surprise that the Borg remembered everything about her. But discussing his friend hit him harder than he would have guessed. "Can you tell me anything else about her?"

"She will be found. Then she will be re-assimilated. We will know everything she knows."

"No," he said, finding a lump in his throat. "I...she...she was killed last month." He resolved not to dwell on the details, or his own involvement. "You'll never be able to assimilate her again."

"That is unfortunate," the girl replied.

"It is?" Jimenez was intrigued by that sentiment. "I thought you'd be mad at her, for leaving your perfect little hive."

"Resistance is futile," she observed. "We wish to raise quality of life in all species. If we cannot add Two of Six's distinctiveness to our own, to improve our perfection, her death is a loss for the entire collective."

"But death is irrelevant. I thought that's what you believed."

"Death is irrelevant to the Borg," she clarified. "Two of Six ceased to be Borg. She became small, weak, individual, and died. Her existence as an individual is over and can never be regenerated. When you are assimilated, your thoughts will continue in the collective beyond your corporeal existence. Her thoughts since becoming an individual will not. You will continue forever without those thoughts."

Tears began to well in his eyes, and he fought to keep his composure. "How can you--how can you say something like that?"

"We are Borg," the girl replied bluntly. "We did not wish for her existence to end. We wished for her to become one with the Borg. You would have become one with her as well."

This brought Jimenez's memories to one of his last conversations with Two, when she had naively offered to provide him sexual favors. She suggested it like a basic maintenance service, akin to a human offering to calibrate a Borg's biradial clamp. Yet, in spite of the clumsiness of her proposition, her overall intent was sincere, and kind. Jimenez was perhaps the only friend Two had ever known, and all she wanted was to be closer with him. It was ironic, then, that their mutual enemy's goal was to fulfill that desire.

He couldn't think straight. He was already traumatized to see these Borg children, and now remembering his experiences with Two left him wanting to run back to the _Hrunting_ and sleep for a week. The base of his skull was throbbing, and he could swear he felt a faint...buzzing...

"Uriah," he breathed. Then he looked back to the drones. Six of Ten, the girl, and even the infant now all stared intently upon him, and he realized what was happening. The buzz he felt was like the muffled, distant noise of hundreds of voices, cacophonous but somehow smooth and flowing. The voices seemed to grow louder...and louder...

*we are the borg...your life as it has been is over...from this time forward, you will service us...resistance is futile...*


	19. Chapter 19

> First Officer's Log, stardate 39133.8.
> 
> Thirty minutes remain before Captain Blackwood leads the away mission to what we've nicknamed " _Croatoan_ ," which the Ferengi have more precisely identified as a Borg starship. We know so little about the Ferengi, and all we know about these Borg people is what the Ferengi choose to reveal to us. In my opinion, it's too dangerous for the _Tombaugh_ 's commanding officer to board the alien vessel, but the captain has overruled my objections. I hereby note my official protest in this log.
> 
> While I tend to my duties as first officer, and prepare to take command, there is a more personal matter I must attend to.

When Flint Hardcastle entered the brig, he found a single security officer on duty, and quickly ordered him outside. Turning to first cell on his left, he found the prisoner he was looking for, safely locked away. "Let me guess," he asked. "You turned yourself in."

Lieutenant Tirava glared at him through the force field. "It was that or put up a fight against my own security team," she snarled. "And I couldn't risk injuring them. What became of the Ferengi?"

"His _name_ is Skuxx," Hardcastle demanded. "And what 'became' of him is that you crumpled his ear and stepped on his groin!"

Her eyes flared, and her antennae perked. "Sir, if you had heard _half_ of the things that _gremlin_ said to me in the mess hall--!"

Hardcastle cut her off. "He doesn't answer to me, Lieutenant. You do." Knowing her honor would never allow her to attempt escape, he deactivated the force field and sat down in the cell with her. "Doctor Elori thinks she's repaired the damage. _And_ she's offered to attend to Mister Skuxx's...personal needs...in compensation for his trouble."

Tirava shivered. "Risean selflessness goes too far, I think. No wonder she likes those skirts. Trousers just delay the inevitable--"

"It's her way, and it's the only reason you're not going to stay in here until an extradition hearing. So I don't want to hear it, Lieutenant"

"Of course you don't," she grumbled, her antennae curling. "You _like_ Elori's 'way.'"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" the commander demanded.

"Let's face it, Flint, you and the Ferengi all like your women docile...pliant...eager to please. How many vacations have you taken to Risa in the last two years?"

He sighed and put his head in his hands. "Ava, don't make this about us, not now."

"I'm not," she insisted. "It's about that Ferengi leering at me while I stand guard over him, demanding that I strip naked and chew his dinner for him, and you don't see a problem with it because you're just as averse to more...aggressive women."

"That's completely unfair!" Hardcastle began to pace around the cell, trying to find the words that would resolve the issue without digging himself in a deeper hole. "Look, I'll admit that the male of my species enjoys the...fantasy...of total control. Evidently these Ferengi insist on making it a fact of life. Human men don't. There's more to us than our baser urges. So I, for one, can handle aggressive women."

"Or so you'd like to believe." She crossed her arms and sneered at him. " _I_ think your ego just can't handle the bruising it took that night on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet..."

"It was my jaw that got bruised," he recalled with a wince. "If you'd talked to me about your feelings, it would have been easier for us to deal with them."

"Andorian men only have two ways to deal with a romantic overture," Tirava shrugged. "One is to fight back. I happen to prefer the other approach."

"So did I," Hardcastle confessed.

Her face flushed with blue blood and her antenna pointed straight at him. "Then why do you keep pushing me away, Flint? Why can't we be together, like...before?"

"We've been over this. I'm the first officer of the ship. I can't get too involved with any of the crew. A torrid affair here and there, fine. When my weapons officer ambushes me, nude, in my own hotel room, I assume that's all it is." Hardcastle saw her beginning to object, and clarified. "I _know_ it meant more to you than that, at least now I do. But I'm responsible for over two hundred twenty lives, and I can't be pinned down to any one of them. When I recommend to Blackwood that you be assigned to the bridge during the away mission, he values that judgement because he doesn't think I'm trying to keep my lover out of harm's way, or positioning her for a promotion. It's the same with Carvalho. And Elori." 

"And Dvorak?" Tirava wondered.

"For the last time," he groaned, "the whole ship was infected with the Thalian mnemophagic virus."

She changed the subject. "I can respect that your duty keeps you from following your heart. I just want to know where your heart _would_ lead you, if you were free to follow. Carvalho may not care about that. She's human--having a 'date' and permitting you to travel to 'first down' doesn't demand so much commitment. But I don't attack men casually."

"And I don't _casually_ sleep with women who beat me up," he grinned. "Honestly? If the uniforms weren't in the way, and we all lived like the Sevrinites..." He sat down beside her, and touched her cheek. "...I would definitely give those antennae something to point at. And I wouldn't let you get away from me."

She smiled slightly, and leaned in a little closer to him. Her Andorian instincts were to just kiss him, and take what she wanted, but she knew that would avail her nothing. And so she paused, trying to give him a chance to take the initiative according to his own strange rituals. For a moment, it seemed that he would. But another moment later, he withdrew his hand, and returned to his feet. Her antennae could sense his anxiety, like that of a trapped animal.

"I can't do this, Ava," he stammered. "Not with the Ferengi, and these Borg people, and the captain beaming over to his third away mission of the day..."

She nodded in agreement; it just wasn't the right time. "Then don't," she told him. "But when this is over...it may be a conflict of interest for us to be mates, but that doesn't mean we couldn't have one of your 'torrid affairs.' Or several."

He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. "We'll talk it over first. But one way or another, when this Borg business is over, we'll be together."


	20. Chapter 20

"Well, let's see what we have here." Corporal Gawain was practically ebullient as he performed his hourly scan of Tirava's vital signs. "Cortical activity remains minimal, Borg interlink transmissions are still negligible...ah, heart rate and galvanic skin responses have increased. My diagnosis is that you're experiencing a rather intense dream, Lieutenant. Hopefully a good one..."

"She can't hear you," Ajax muttered from across the room.

Up to that moment, the thought had not crossed Gawain's holographic mind. "I suppose you're right. Still, I think the dreariness of the situation requires cheering up, and if my dulcet tones can assist in any way--"

Ajax looked up at him. "They don't, Corporal. You're just in love with the sound of your own voice. It's a holdover from the original medical hologram used to develop your matrix. When you switch off your medical subroutines you'll notice you're not so...loquacious."

"I see." Gawain was visibly insulted and irritated by the remark. "If I may ask, what is the status of _your_ matrix, Sergeant? Or would you prefer to quietly sulk in your corner?"

"My self-diagnostic turned up nothing," Ajax fumed. "My program is in perfect working order, not so much as an uncaught exception or a type mismatch. Whatever Ijhel meant when she warned me about an 'interface collision,' I can't find any evidence of it."

Benkei spoke up, for the first time since he had joined his holographic comrades in the aft section of the shuttle. "Respectfully, sir, you sound as if you know something is there to be found. Why not take it up with Doctor Ijhel?"

"Because I don't--!" Ajax stopped himself, and the concern in his face deepened when he realized he didn't know what he was going to say. "I...I don't know why," he admitted. "And that's part of the problem. If I wasn't a hologram, I would swear I'm going mad."

Gawain's medical preprocessor directives instantly recognized his colleague's suffering as cause for assistance. "Sir, how could that be? We're nothing but collections of algorithms. You can only be as insane as you're programmed to be. If there's nothing wrong with your source code--"

"I know, Corporal," he dismissed. "But I can't account for my behavior since I was activated during the first Species 10538 attack. At first I thought I was reacting to the severity of Commander Kreighen's injuries, but when Ijhel questioned me, I...I...shoved her aside, like an angry Klingon."

"We do possess some Klingon data libraries," Benkei offered. "Combat skills, tactics, the complete text of Antaak's _Paq vo' Brak'lul_..."

"A Klingon pushes someone aside because he gets angry," Ajax countered. "I'm capable of anger, and I'm programmed to resort to physical force, but I'm not designed for one to automatically trigger the other. I shouldn't be capable of doing _anything_ without some logical explanation. But I can't explain why I accosted Ijhel, or why I gave the commander such a dangerous dose of tricordrazine, or why I would show insubordination to a superior officer." He stared at his hands, which were now shaking. "I can't even account for why I'm so agitated about it! I should be working to address the problem, but not while panicking about it!"

"We're highly sophisticated software," Gawain said, trying to reassure him. "Twenty years ago it was inconceivable that a holomatrix could support an artificial intelligence complex enough to comprehend its own existence. There are bound to be unanticipated results of that achievement. You've been online longer than the rest of us, so maybe this is an inevitable development..."

Ajax shook his head. "So I'm some nascent life form? This is all some transcendence from mere algorithms and photons? I can't accept that. I'm not a Soong-type android, built for the sake of becoming more than the sum of my parts. I am a military assault hologram, a disposable soldier. My purpose is to be _less_ alive than a real person, so that when I'm destroyed in his place, less will have been lost. If I'm capable of being more, then I may prove incapable of doing my duty."

Benkei considered this as he examined his superior. "That frightens you, doesn't it?"

Ajax looked up at him in realization. "I...I suppose it does. If my medical subroutines say Kreighen needs to be relieved of duty, and my combat subroutines say I should always follow his commands, then there must be some... _thing_ in my call stack that's resolving the dilemma, and I can't have it tested or debugged. Before, I always knew what to do--whose orders to obey, which priorities come first. If that's not being derived from my program, then how can I know I'll do the right thing?"

"That's...difficult to contemplate," Benkei answered. "It may be beyond me."

"All I can be sure of," Gawain added, "is that my programming requires me to follow your orders. I wouldn't know how to question them."

Their conversation was disturbed by a series of chirps from the auxiliary sensor console. "It's the transporter," Benkei announced when he read the panel. "The emergency evac procedure..."

Ajax immediately forgot his dilemma and rushed to the forward door, leading into the transporter chamber. Just a step behind, Kreighen and Ijhel joined him from the foredeck. Together, they all watched as two figures materialized on the transporter pad. Soon Corporal Uriah was in full view, kneeling over the fallen form of Nathan Jimenez.

"Report!" Ajax ordered.

"We met with the Borg, as planned," Uriah explained, handing the engineer off to Gawain. "But we ran into a snag. The Borg realized that if they can't assimilate Ensign Jimenez cybernetically, they could try doing it telepathically."


	21. Chapter 21

> Acting Captain's Log, supplementary.
> 
> I have assumed command of the _Tombaugh_ , while Captain Blackwood leads an away team aboard a Ferengi shuttle to enter the mysterious Borg starship. We can only guess how the Borg will respond to this action, but the captain believes a peaceful resolution is possible. In support of that approach, I'm keeping weapons and shields offline, but the crew is at full alert.

Hardcastle sat at the edge of the captain's chair, listening intently to the open channel with the away team aboard _Croatoan_ , and watching the enormous cube on the main viewscreen. His anxiety was irrelevant. With Carvalho monitoring sensors from ops, and Tirava ready to raise shields at a moment's notice, every angle was covered. But he knew his place wasn't the bridge--he should have been the one leading the away team--and he wouldn't be able to relax until Blackwood was safely back aboard the _Tombaugh_.

"I wish you could see this, Mister Hardcastle," Blackwood continued over the comm signal. "The layout of this ship is astounding--every section is exactly like the last, no differentiation at all. The Ferengi say there is no bridge, but it may be more precise to say any part of the ship is just as much the bridge as every other part."

"Any sign of the missing colonists?" Hardcastle inquired.

"Not as yet," the captain answered, "but judging from what we've seen so far, this ship design makes very efficient use of space. We literally have 27 cubic kilometers to search."

"What about these Borgs, Captain? Are any of them awake?"

"Negative. Every one we've encountered is catatonic along the bulkheads. Qwerty and Dvorak believe they may be interconnected somehow, similar to the Bynars..."

The Bynar pair corrected him. "Not completely--" "--similar, Captain." "The Bynars are organized--" "--in a binary tree structure--" "--so that each unit is only--" "--directly linked to one other unit." "The Borg each appear to be--" "--equally interdependent--" "--with every other Borg--" "--and their ship."

"That's why we couldn't detect life signs, Mister Hardcastle," Blackwood noted. "Our sensors were calibrated to scan for individual life signs."

"Understood," the first officer acknowledged. "Carvalho, reset primary sensors to detect superorganic life signs. Maybe we can help the away team from here."

"Aye, sir." The lieutenant entered a series of commands, and was visibly impressed by the changes in her readings. "Commander, I'm now detecting thousands of humanoid patterns, each reading as partial life forms. They appear to be governed by the same neural and electrochemical energy fields."

Hardcastle stood over her station, examining the data. "Did you copy that, away team?"

"We did, _Tombaugh_ ," Blackwood responded. "That would appear to support Qwerty and Dvorak's theory. These Borg may not be so much a living computer, like the Bynars, as a sentient insect colony. If that's true, there may be a single entity responsible for coordinating the entire hive that we could seek an audience with. A Borg 'queen,' as it were. Mister Skuxx, is there any record of attempts at communication with this species?"

The Ferengi's voice now came through over the channel. "I'm afraid my cousin and I are no scientists, Captain. We've always avoided attracting attention in our past visits, and I suspect the Yridians would have shared that policy whenever possible. I'm afraid Zard and I have shown you all that--" Skuxx's voice was broken off by a loud clanging noise.

"Away team, come in!" Hardcastle immediately reacted.

"Nothing to fear, Mister Hardcastle," Blackwood finally replied. "Our Ferengi guides were startled. A Borg has awakened from its stasis chamber and is moving toward us. I will attempt to communicate."

The bridge crew held their breaths as they listened to the captain quietly initiate first contact for the second time in one day. "Greetings. I am Captain Arthur Blackwood of the Federation startship _Tombaugh_. We mean you no harm. Do you understand what it is that I am saying?"

Another voice emerged. "Commander, this is Ensign Stone. The Borg is scanning the captain with some sort of beam. We think it's trying to--"

"Stone? Stone, come in!" Hardcastle walked up to the viewscreen, as if being closer to an image of the cube better might carry his voice. "Bridge to Blackwood." No response. "Qwerty, Dvorak, come in!"

"Commander," Tirava interjected, "I'm picking up a scattering field emanating from the cube. The Borg may intentionally be jamming communications..."

That was all he needed to hear. "Bridge to Transporter Room One! Get them out of there!"

"Detecting an unusual energy surge in the cube," Carvalho reported. "They may be going to warp...it's difficult to tell..."

"Bridge, this is Welch," the transporter chief announced. "I can't get a lock on the away team. Some kind of electromagnetic--"

A green glow burst out of the cube, and then the _Tombaugh_ shuddered from the effect. "They've locked onto us with a tractor beam!" Tirava recognized.

"Red alert!" Hardcastle yelled. "Fire warning shots only, Ava--I want to be able to keep the shields down until we get our people back. Helm, full reverse!"

Tirava powered up the ship's phasers and fired as close to the cube's hull as she could. To her amazement the Borg did not so much as move. "No damage. They're charging some sort of columnated energy beam," she announced. "Shields?"

"Not yet," the commander insisted. "Transporter chief, be ready to--"

An explosion rocked the bridge, as the Borg's weapon ripped through five decks and disrupted the plasma relays throughout the saucer. When Lieutenant Tirava picked herself off the floor, she found herself the only one on her feet...and in command of the _Tombaugh_.


	22. Chapter 22

The rear hatchway of the _Hrunting_ opened, and Commander Kreighen came storming out in the assimilation bay. "You'd damned well better be listening, because I've got something to say to you!"

"LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JACOB KREIGHEN," the Borg announced. "WE REQUIRE YOUR ASSIST--"

"You should have thought of _that_ before you assaulted my crewman!" Kreighen shouted as he marched into the middle of the chamber. The shuttle hatch closed up behind him, leaving him alone with his "partner."

"WE INTEND NO HARM. ENSIGN NATHAN JIMENEZ WAS NOT DAMAGED."

"Your intentions are irrelevant!" he snapped. "Your analysis is incorrect! You keep saying you 'intend no harm,' but if you _meant_ that you would attempt to understand why people think you're harming them and try to stop it!"

"UNDERSTANDING IS IRRELEVANT. WHEN YOU ARE ASSIMILATED, WE WILL WORK AS ONE MIND."

That was enough to make Kreighen boil over. " _Nobody is getting assimilated today_ , you idiot! You have to deal with me and my crew as-is, right now! That shouldn't be hard, because all we want in return is for you mind your own business, but you just can't help yourselves! You couldn't get your nanoprobes into Jimenez, so you tried using telepathy to make him work for you!"

"HE IS SMALL, AND HIS THOUGHTS ARE ERRATIC," the Borg argued, justifying their actions. "HE WAS DISTRACTED BY IRRELEVANT THOUGHTS, SO WE OFFERED HIM CLARITY AND ORDER. THE WEAPON MUST BE COMPLETED. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED."

" _You_ are small!" Kreighen thundered. "This ship must have a thousand people aboard, with a thousand minds working in harmony, but you just keep saying the same things over and over!"

"WE ARE BORG," they rebutted.

"And you waste that," he added. "Your collective could do anything, but all you can think about is finding new ways to use your cutting beam on enemy ships. You wouldn't have even considered using telepathy on Jimenez if it weren't for our alliance! Hell, that was my idea too! The only idea you had was to force me to cooperate by threatening to do something stupid that would get us all killed! _You're_ supposed to be the ones who are so good at adapting, so why am _I_ the one doing all the thinking around here?"

"WE ARE UNABLE TO LINK WITH THE REST OF THE COLLECTIVE WHILE WE REMAIN WITHIN THE ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD OF SYSTEM TWO ZERO NINE FIVE. SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT OFFERS SUFFICIENT RESISTANCE TO WITHSTAND ANALYSIS."

"Don't give me that!" he shot back. "I'm under a hell of a lot more pressure than you! I'm stuck in this cramped little shuttle, two thousand light years behind enemy lines, outnumbered two hundred to one, so doped up I won't be able to sleep for a week! And my only chance to get out of here is to negotiate with a hive mind that doesn't understand the first thing about diplomacy! Well, I've had enough! Our agreement is over. To hell with you, and to hell with Species 10538--I'd rather take my chances on my own. You will allow my ship to depart from your vessel."

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOU WILL ASSIST US. IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY YOU WILL BE PUNISHED."

Kreighen chuckled at both their intransigence and their arrogance. "This tin can of mine has blown up bigger Borg ships than this one, from the outside _and_ the inside. You might destroy us, or you might force us to self-destruct, but I _guarantee_ you bastards are going down with me. Species 10538 won't have much left to do but pick the bones."

"YOU WILL ASSIST US."

Dismissing this, he turned back toward the shuttle and slapped his commbadge. "Kreighen to _Hrunting_ , power up the engines and prepare for departure--"

"YOU MUST COMPLY."

"The Borg are threatening to resist," he continued. "Charge the polaron cannons and initiate attack pattern sigma-eight on my mark--"

"THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY."

Kreighen stopped in his tracks, but did not turn to "confront" the collective. "This had better be good."

"BOTH OUR SHIPS ARE READY TO FIGHT. WE HAVE TWO EXTREMELY POWERFUL AND DESTRUCTIVE ARSENALS AT OUR COMMAND. OUR NEXT ACTIONS WILL HAVE SERIOUS REPERCUSSIONS. WE HAVE GOOD REASON TO MISTRUST ONE ANOTHER, BUT WE HAVE BETTER REASON TO SET THOSE DIFFERENCES ASIDE. THE QUESTION IS, WHO WILL TAKE THE INITIATIVE? WHO WILL MAKE THE FIRST GESTURE OF TRUST?" 

They seemed to pause to allow Kreighen to look back over his shoulder, in disbelief. "THE ANSWER IS, WE WILL."

Before his astonished eyes a transporter beam shimmered into being, materializing a single drone. But something was different--this drone stooped slightly, as if exhausted from its service to the collective. Its face was unreadable, covered as it was with cybernetics, but its posture exuded weariness and...humanity."

"C-commander Kreighen..." came the electronic voice from a newly installed vocal subprocessor. "My...my name is...Zaglim Achvir."

The man looked weak and disoriented, and the commander reached out to steady him. "You're an individual," he observed, incredulously.

"SIX OF TEN, SECONDARY NAVIGATIONAL MATRIX HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED FROM THE COLLECTIVE," the Borg explained. "WE DO NOT HEAR HIS THOUGHTS. WE CANNOT CONTROL HIM. YOU WILL COMPEL HIM TO ASSIST YOU IN COMPLETING THE TELEPATHIC WEAPON AT YOUR DISCRETION."

Kreighen looked up into empty space, as if to assess the Borg's faceless presence, and finally tapped his commbadge again. "Stand by, _Hrunting_. Prepare to receive me and...an unexpected guest." Instead of waiting for acknowledgement, Kreighen tapped the badge again to close the channel, and posed a question to the collective. "Why?" 

"SPECIES ONE ZERO FIVE THREE EIGHT MUST BE STOPPED. YOUR SURVIVAL IS OUR SURVIVAL."

"That was always true," he countered. "Where'd you come up with that speech?"

"LOCUTION DERIVED FROM COMMUNIQUES DURING FEDERATION-ROMULAN DISPUTE AT GALORNDON CORE, STARDATE FOUR THREE THREE FOUR NINE POINT TWO."

His eyes widened, and in recognition he muttered a single word: "Picard." He was almost positive it was the _Enterprise_ that resolved that crisis, and the Borg had assimilated Captain Picard only a few months afterward. They hadn't just absorbed his tactical knowledge of Federation defenses; they'd also gained his renowned diplomatic skills. They simply hadn't bothered to employ those skills until now. "I was wrong about you," he told them. "When the chips are down, you really _can_ adapt."

"WE ARE BORG," they replied coldly.


	23. Chapter 23

By the time Ensign Jimenez has regained consciousness and returned to the foredeck of the _Hrunting_ , he was met with the unusual sight of Commander Kreighen and a Borg collaborating over the ops station.

"Ensign," Kreighen greeted him, "I think you've already met Zaglim Achvir."

The cyborg extended his hand and the engineer cautiously shook it. "Ajax said you'd fill me in," Jimenez mentioned. "I can see why he didn't want to try."

The commander shook his head. "I'm more worried about you, Nathan. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I don't think the Borg read any of my thoughts, if that's what you're worried about."

"Are you positive?" Kreighen pressed.

"I dated a Vulcan in my first year at the Academy," he explained. "She taught me some techniques to regulate my mind, which turned out to be handy for shielding my thoughts."

Kreighen was impressed. "A Vulcan, eh? Not bad, Ensign."

"Um, anyway, I'm no expert, but it felt to me like the Borg aren't all that skilled with telepathy--it was like making a really clumsy pass at a woman." He paused to consider that analogy. "Heh...speaking of my first year at the Academy..."

"Ensign," Achvir broke in with his artificial voice. "After your unfortunate encounter and Commander Kreighen's ultimatum, the Borg decided to send me to work with your crew as an individual. Your plan to convert telepathic signals into kinetic force is similar to a concept from my society's ancient past."

"When the Dhaqlir were assimilated," Kreighen explained, "they didn't have any formal documentation on the principle, only legends and untested theories. The Collective filters this information as individualistic, irrelevant data, so it never occurred to them to bring it up. The point is, Mister Achvir thinks he can make the 'rail gun' work, with the right equipment."

"I'll have to be reintegrated with the Borg," Achvir added, resigned to his fate. "Focusing all their minds on a target should be simple enough, but we need a large, powerful resonator to modulate the psionic field."

"The _Hrunting_ ," Jimenez jumped ahead. "It's too dangerous to teach the Borg to build something like this, so we use the biggest piece of equipment we brought with us. I might have to rip the guts out of it, but the navigational deflector could handle the load. The Borg could open the bay doors, expose the shuttle to space, and use it like an antenna."

Kreighen handed him a datapad. "We've compiled the specs we need here. Do what you can, and don't be afraid to ask for more resources--I think the Borg should be willing to pump in whatever power you need to make this work."

"I'm on it, sir." The engineer was at his best when he had a technical problem to solve, and as soon as he had the tablet in hand he was reaching for the panel covering the hatchway into the shuttle's inner workings.

"Ensign," Achvir called to him, while he had a chance. "I...want to apologize for what happened."

Jimenez shrugged as he crawled into the hatch. "You didn't have any say in it, and 'Six of Ten' was just following orders. No harm, no foul."

When he was gone, the former drone turned to Kreighen, his look of puzzlement completely hidden behind his cranial implants. "'Foul?'"

"It's an Earth saying," Kreighen clarified. "No damage was done, so there's no need for repercussions. Since you didn't pick up his meaning I assume you're still keeping your mind closed off from my crew."

"I must," Achvir confirmed. "Your plan will never succeed unless I'm reintegrated into the collective, and I refuse to help the Borg assimilate anything I might learn from your minds, including the modifications your engineer is preparing." He gestured to his vocal subprocessor unit. "Though I must admit, I wish I could do away with this miserable form of communication."

"I can imagine," the commander nodded. "I suppose there's not much natural left in your throat."

"That's only part of it. The Dhaqlir had never encountered a species without telepathic abilities until we were assimilated. Your mind must be very alien to me, Commander. I would relish the opportunity to know it better. Not...not like the Borg did to Ensign Jimenez, you understand--"

Kreighen raised his hand to cut him off. "I do. My people are explorers, always looking to encounter new civilizations, to initiate peaceful relations. More than a few cynics have compared our intentions to the Borg, but..." He sat down and ran a hand through his hair. "...but I guess the difference is always the same. The Borg don't consider anybody else's point of view."

"I think you've changed that today, Commander. It may only be one ship, but you've forced the Borg to heed ideas that they've always refused to consider."

"'Refuse' may not be the right word," Kreighen suggested. "My government _always_ looks for diplomatic solutions, though when it comes to the Borg, we assume that they can't help being an enemy. It's their nature. But I've learned a lot about them from this mess. They _could_ listen instead of assimilating, or negotiate instead of demanding. They just haven't had a reason. Maybe if this cooperation works, we can give them one."

"Commander." Achvir's electronic voice seemed to grow more serious. "This cooperation _will_ fail. As soon as you've helped them defeat Species 10538, the Borg will stop at nothing to assimilate this shuttle. You must know that."

"I went into this with my eyes open, Zaglim. But nothing's changed since they captured my ship--the Borg and I can slug it out and see who wins, or we can agree to work together and go our separate ways. They think I'm looking to stab them in the back just like I'm worried about them. But they had it right--all we can do is try to put that aside and trust each other. I think they assimilated that notion from one of my world's best diplomats."

"All that means," the Dhaqlir insisted, "is that they learned from him how to tell you what you hope to hear."

"Maybe," Kreighen admitted. "I'm not so sure anymore. In their own way, the Borg expressed genuine concern for my wellbeing. I think that's the starting point for a real peace process. But they'd have to learn the value of trust, and I can't teach it to them if I assume they're incapable of it."

Achvir nodded slowly. "Your mind...must be very curious indeed, Commander. I hope that it does not lead to your destruction."

"It's gotten me this far. I just hope it can find a way to avoid _your_ destruction."

"Do what you must, then" the ex-Borg said, "but know this. When I leave this shuttle, the Borg will...aggressively re-assimilate me into their collective, and I will become that _thing_ that attacked your crewman once more. I accept that fate, not for the sake of saving the Borg or defeating our enemy or preserving my own existence. I do this for you, so your people can escape to live free of this damnable hive mind. I implore you, Commander--if you see an opportunity to save yourself, do not hesitate to allow every drone on this ship to die in your place. I can speak for them all when I say it would be the best possible outcome."

Kreighen offered no response. He merely stood up from his chair to say his goodbyes. "Thank you for all your help. My people consider first contact with other species to be a great privilege."

"Farewell, Commander Kreighen," Achvir replied. He began triggering a series of controls on his forearm, signaling for the Borg to transport him out of the shuttle. "I am sorry to say that I hope we will never meet again."


	24. Chapter 24

> TACTICAL DATA, NCC-3853 (USS TOMBAUGH)
> 
> DAMAGE REPORT STARDATE 39133.9
> 
> DECK 1: ENERGY SURGE DETECTED IN PRIMARY POWER GRID, AUTOMATIC BYPASS ENGAGED  
>  DECK 2: HULL BREACH IN SECTION 4, 5; TRANSPORTER ROOM ONE DESTROYED; CASUALTY REPORT PENDING  
>  DECK 3: HULL BREACH IN SECTION 4, 5; CASUALTY REPORT PENDING  
>  DECK 4: HULL BREACH IN SECTION 4, 5, 6; CASUALTY REPORT PENDING  
>  DECK 5: HULL BREACH IN SECTION 4, 5, 6; SEVEN UNACCOUNTED FOR  
>  DECK 6: HULL BREACH IN SECTION 6, CONTAINMENT FIELD IN PLACE; DORSAL PHASER ARRAY OFFLINE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 7: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 8: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 9: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 10: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 11: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 12: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 13: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES  
>  DECK 14: NO DAMAGE; NO CASUALTIES

Smoke billowed from the overloaded consoles throughout the bridge, but Tirava quickly found her way through it to assess the bridge crew. The helmsman was on his back, but breathing. Shards of plastic had completely run through Carvalho's throat--it was a safe bet she was already dead. And Commander Hardcastle...

"Flint!" she cried as she found him crumpled against a railing. He'd suffered burns on the right side of his face and much of his right arm. She hurriedly pressed her commbadge. "Bridge to sickbay, medical emergency!"

"I'll...I'll be okay," he wheezed. "The captain..."

"He's still in the cube," she reported. "Transporter Room One is gone! The Borg sliced out a piece of the hull--!"

He struggled to raise his hand to quiet her. "You--you're in command, Ava. Get...ship outta...danger..."

She wanted to stay with him, keep him safe until the medics arrived. But her duty was clear, and she heeded it--she left him to lie where he fell, and assumed his post. "Doumbia," she barked at the relief officer at the aft stations, "take the helm. Palakinem, you're at weapons. Lock onto the source of that tractor beam and fire!"

"Forward phasers are inoperative," Palakinem responded.

Tirava circled around the center of the bridge like a cat. "Bridge to Transporter Room Two," she hailed. "We've lost Chief Welch. Can you bring back the away team?"

"Negative, sir," came the reply. "We can't cut through the EM interference."

She grumbled a series of Andorian curses and changed her tactics. "Raise shields! Helm, try to rock us loose--alternate the port and starboard thrusters, keep them guessing."

"I'm trying, sir," Doumbia answered, "but nothing seems to--"

"Sir!" When Tirava turned to address Palakinem, he was pointing at the main viewer. "The Ferengi shuttle!"

She swiveled around again to find the small craft emerging from a tiny hatch on the massive Borg cube, and her antenna tensed with fury. "Life signs?" she requested, though she had a fair idea what the result would be.

"Scanning," Palakinem responded. "Only two humanoids...not Bynar or human. They're consistent with our earlier scans of the Ferengi."

"Open a channel!" Tirava seethed. "Skuxx, where are Captain Blackwood and the rest of our people?"

"No response."

"Damn you, Ferengi! We had an agreement!"

That evidently got the pilot's attention, and his face filled the viewscreen. "Our agreement, female, was to show your captain how we entered the Borg ship! We never promised to help him meet with its crew, or that doing so would be wise! Our agreement is terminated, and I really must be going!"

"Uzaveh!" she swore. "If you're going to scurry away to leave us to the real work, at least have the dignity to take our civilian passengers with you!"

"I'm sorry for your trouble," Skuxx answered, "and I wish we could come to terms, but the one hundred twenty-fifth Rule of Acquisition clearly states--"

Tirava drew her thumb across her throat, and Palakinem quickly cut the transmission. "That miserable--!" she fumed. "Status of Borg tractor beam?"

Doumbia never took his eyes off the helm. "I've tried every trick in the book, Lieutenant--we're not going anywhere."

"Shields at forty-five percent and falling," Palakinem reported. "Receiving reports of boarding parties beaming in right _through_ the shields!"

Tirava practically leaped to his station. "Ready photons, full spread, maximum yield," she instructed. "Doumbia, if you can't shake us loose, get us turned around and prepare to go to warp."

Doumbia was astonished by the suggestion. "Sir?"

"You heard me!" She glanced to the weapons station. "Palakinem, fire at will!"

"Firing," the weapons officer announced. "Direct hits..." his jaw dropped in mid-sentence as the sensor readings came in. "Direct hits and...no damage."

"What?" Tirava asked in amazement.

The Zakdorn rechecked his readings. "Confirmed," he muttered. "No damage to Borg vessel." A new series of beeps demanded his attention. "Sir, detecting ninety-seven microfractures forming on the outer hull. Cause...excessive shear forces."

"We'll tear the ship apart before we break this tractor!" Doumbia panicked. "If we went to warp now the structural integrity fields would collapse!"

Tirava pounded her fists against the railing, and paced back to the captain's chair. The medical teams had yet to respond to her request; Commander Hardcastle and Lieutenant Carvalho's corpse still lay at her feet. Her antennae lowered, and she resigned herself to her duty. 

"Open a channel to the cube," she sighed. "Attention, Borg vessel. This is Lieutenant Tirava, in command of the Federation starship _Tombaugh_." She swallowed her pride, and nearly choked on it. "I hereby...surrender control of my ship to your authority."


	25. Chapter 25

Commander Kreighen hovered over the _Hrunting_ 's tactical station and opened a channel. "Kreighen to Borg."

The reply was prompt and curt. "PROCEED."

"We've finished modifications on our end. I assume you've...ah, reincorporated Mr. Achvir."

"SIX OF TEN, SECONDARY NAVIGATIONAL MATRIX HAS BEEN RETURNED TO THE COLLECTIVE. OUR THOUGHTS ARE ONE."

He winced, but carried on. "Then you should be briefed on what we'll need to do. Once you can give us direct line-of-sight with the Species 10538 warship, we'll activate the resonance frequency and you can 'fire' the psychokinetic burst. I figure we'll get one shot with this, so once we crack their defenses it's up to you to finish the job. I recommend using your cutting beam to--"

"THIS DISCUSSION IS IRRELEVANT, WE ARE ALREADY AWARE OF YOUR PLAN."

"Our deal was that we don't proceed unless we're in agreement," he reminded them. "Just because Achvir was satisfied doesn't mean I can assume you are."

"WE ACCEPT YOUR PROPOSAL. WE WILL NOW RETURN TO THE EDGE OF THE RADIATION FIELD TO BEGIN THE ATTACK." 

"One last thing," Kreighen added. "You're aware that we heavily modified our navigational deflector to make this thing work. That means we'll need time to repair it before we can go our separate ways. The work will go faster if we can stay docked in your assimilation bay until then, if that's all right with you."

"THAT IS ACCEPTABLE," the Borg answered, less than a second before closing the channel.

Kreighen looked up from the console to his crew, showing them a very determined expression. "All right, even if they _could_ scan our thoughts from in here, they must not be. So we've got a chance."

"What makes you so sure they're not reading our minds?" Jimenez wondered.

"Because if they caught me lying, they'd call me out on it immediately," the commander explained. "And rebuilding the deflector is pretty low on my agenda. Utana, what have you got?"

Ijhel set her workstation onto the console for him to see. "I've studied our readings on Achvir's psionic field, and this modulation algorithm should enable the deflector array to pipe enough of the signal back towards us, without diminishing the net effect on the alien ship."

"Feedback," Jimenez realized. "So...what'll that do to the Borg?"

"Each of them will be processing the thoughts of a thousand drones," she elaborated. "Then the one thousand will get doubled up to two thousand...four thousand...the Borg's cybernetics have buffers to handle the increased workload, but telepathy bypasses those safeguards. Their organic brains will be overwhelmed, much as you were."

"That brings up a good question," Kreighen considered. "What happens to us during all this?"

"We can't shield ourselves from the effect," she continued. "We'll be out cold along with them."

Kreighen nodded and began entering Ijhel's algorithm into the deflector's processing matrix. "Then you'll have to finish the job, Ajax."

"And what job is that?" Ajax asked.

But Jimenez already knew--he could see it in Kreighen's eyes. "You're going to kill them... _all_ of them."

Ajax was stunned. "Commander?"

Kreighen grimaced and tried to handle the situation. "Nathan, I--"

"Did Achvir know about this?" Jimenez demanded.

"Of course not!" Kreighen was surprised at the question. "If he had, the whole ship would be onto us by now! But he would have approved. It was all I could do to make him think he couldn't talk me into it."

The young engineer collapsed into the chair at ops, and stared at his superior in disbelief. "There are _children_ on this ship. _Babies!_ "

"Babies that've been kidnapped, mutilated, and brainwashed by the Borg," Kreighen grumbled. "We're not the villains here. I wish there was another way, but--"

"You _found_ another way!" Jimenez insisted. "You negotiated with them, and got us this far!"

"Look, I'm just as amazed as you that they've cooperated so far, but sooner or later our luck's going to run out. I can't risk the lives of this crew on a social experiment with _the Borg_!"

"So that's it? We just turn on them before they can turn on us? Y'know, they all but told me that they _expect_ us to do that!"

"Of course they do," Ijhel interjected. "That's the safest course of action--exploit the other party as long as you can, then eliminate any possibility of betrayal."

"Hey, I didn't want to bring it up," Jimenez told her, "but let's face it: we're not wearing Cardassian uniforms here! We're not Cardassians, we're not Ferengi, and we're not Borg! Since when do we play by their rules?"

Kreighen rubbed his forehead. "Ensign, we're at _war_!"

"That's what I mean!" he argued. "We're fighting this war because nobody thinks we can make peace with the Borg. Well, yeah, if we only negotiate with them to lure them into traps! I know you want to do what's best for the crew, Jake, but you've got a chance to make the Borg actually _listen_. That could save _trillions_ of--!"

" _Enough_!" Kreighen felt his blood pounding through his temples, and a deepening pit in his stomach. "Nathan, I'm sorry I couldn't let you and Ajax in on this plan until the last minute. And honestly, you're not saying anything I haven't told myself today. But this isn't a debate! This Borg ship has made major adaptations that can't be allowed into the rest of the Collective. We have to warn Starfleet about 10538, and we'll need the Borg's transwarp drive to do it. It's either us or them, so we can either wait for them to figure that out, or take our shot while we can." 

Jimenez knew that tone, and when to stop backtalking a senior officer. Kreighen's response hadn't settled the issue, but it had definitively ended the argument. He quietly lowered his head, and continued wrangling with his conscious on a more private level.

Kreighen had already shifted his attention back to Ijhel. "Now...Doctor, what can we do to them once they're disabled?"

"We do this," she answered calmly, producing a tablet of more algorithms. "Disabling the ship's auto-destruct sequence while engaging each drone's personal self-disposal mechanism should be child's play, as long as we have unfettered access to the central plexus."

"Good, good," he muttered hurriedly as he completed the modifications to the deflector. "Then this is the plan. Once the Borg engage the enemy, we help them hit the warship. At that point, Ajax, it's up to you and your men to use _Hrunting_ 's weapons to destroy them, _and_ get a strike force to the central plexus, _and_ secure the Borg's transwarp coil. Your window won't last long before 10538 shoots back, or the ship blows up, or the Borg wake up and realize they've been had."

Ajax listened carefully to every word, never showing a hint of his opinion, until the commander finished his instructions. Then at last he stood at attention and gave his response. "Respectfully, sir...I can't do this."

Kreighen glared at up at him from the tactical station. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Ensign Jimenez was right, sir. This goes against Starfleet principles...against my programming."

"We've been over this, Sergeant!" Kreighen snapped. "You're programmed to be a solider--"

"That's right, sir," he thundered back. There was a snarl deep in Ajax's voice, which he himself would not have thought possible, particularly in speaking to his commanding officer. "I am soldier, _not_ a murderer. We may be at war with the Borg, but that does not justify wading through their unconscious bodies, slaughtering them in cold blood."

"You think I don't know that!? I don't like it any more than you or Jimenez. But I'm in command here, so all I can do is make the call and accept the responsibility. You have your orders, Mister Ajax."

"No, sir," the hologram replied, "I do not. I relieved you on medical grounds, Commander, and I'm the only one who can clear you to return to duty. Until then, I'm not programmed to follow your orders."


	26. Chapter 26

Kreighen straightened to his full height and snarled. "Computer, deactivate Sergeant Ajax."

After a discouraging beep, the he computer responded. "Unable to comply,"

Ajax stood his ground. "My program has safeguards to avoid unauthorized shutdowns, Commander. I know you're off-duty, so the program knows you don't have clearance to relieve me."

"Then put me back on duty," the commander demanded, with a quiet urgency.

"I haven't had time to medically evaluate you," Ajax countered.

Kreighen threw up his hands and turned away. "This is insane! We're caught between a rock and a hard place, with only a few minutes left to get out, and you're gonna stage some sort of holographic mutiny?"

"I am the chief medical officer," the sergeant explained. "The regulations are clear--"

"Don't give me that, Ajax," Kreighen dismissed. "If you were hardwired to be this literal you'd have brought it up before now. Your conscience is bothering you, and you're looking for any excuse to defy my orders."

"I don't have a conscience, sir."

"I don't buy that!"

The _Hrunting_ suddenly shook violently, along with the Borg vessel in which it was docked. "Sensors show the perimeter of the Murasaki field at four thousand kilometers and closing," Jimenez reported from ops. "Species 10538 must have spotted us."

"Well," Ijhel jumped in, "this has all been very illuminating, but permit me to cut to the heart of the matter. In a few minutes the Borg will expect us to help them fire the telepathic weapon. When that happens, every man, woman, and drone on board will be completely unconscious."

Jimenez shook his head and conceded defeat. "She's right, Ajax. I don't like it either, but it's too late. If the Borg wake up, they'll find out what happened."

"Precisely," she added, gesturing to the ensign. "And when they do, they will not be happy with us."

"They won't be happy because we'll have betrayed them," Ajax angrily rebutted. "Avoiding their reprisal isn't justification for mass murder! If that's not good enough for you, Doctor, then you may as well reprogram me and every other hologram in this ship."

"Oh, believe me," she seethed, her eyes widening with rage, "if I had the time, I would--!"

Kreighen threw up his arms, trying to quell them both. "Nobody's reprogramming anything!" he shouted. He approached the sergeant, gripping him by the shoulders. "Ajax, she may think of you as nothing but a computer simulation, but I've _always_ treated you like a man. You do what you think is right, like a man. Maybe your ethics are written in some subroutine instead of being built into a human brain, but I don't see as there's any difference."

"I'm not like you, Commander!" Ajax protested.

"I think you are. I could order Jimenez to order you to complete this mission. And he'd do it--medical clearance or no, he respects the spirit of the chain of command. But I don't think that would get me anywhere. This isn't about which officers you're programmed to obey, it's about which orders you're comfortable with."

Ajax pushed away from Kreighen's grip and backed away. "Sir, I can't do this! Something is wrong with my program..."

"Are you afraid it won't let you eliminate the Borg?" the commander speculated.

The hologram continued to back off, as if retreating from his own anxiety. "I'm...afraid...that it _will_ let me! If it does, what does that say about me?"

"The same thing it says about me," Kreighen insisted. "That you have enough honor to do your duty, enough heart to wish you didn't have to, and enough courage to live with it."

"I'm not programmed for courage, Commander, I'm simply programmed _not_ to fear for my safety. I can't live with this! My function is not to reason why...it's to--"

"'To do or die'?" Kreighen recognized the reference. "Sergeant, the soldiers in that poem weren't mindless automatons, and neither are you. If they could die for their duty, then I'm pretty sure you can live with yours."

"We're clear of the field!" Jimenez updated. " _Hrunting_ 's sensors can't get a fix on the enemy ship from in here, but it looks like the Borg are moving erratically, like they're taking evasive action."

"Understood," Kreighen answered as he returned to tactical. "Let them do their job, Ensign--yours is to keep an eye on that hatch!"

Ijhel couldn't be as calm as her shipmates, and she moved to Kreighen's side. "Commander, what about Ajax?" she muttered to him.

"What about him?"

"He still hasn't acknowledged your orders," she observed. "What if he doesn't--?"

"We're out of time, Doctor," he answered. "He's either wearing that uniform, or it's just a holographic illusion. It's up to him to decide."

"Assimilation bay hatch opening!" Jimenez announced.

Kreighen gripped his console like it was a rifle in foxhole. "Here we go. Computer, reactivate Military Assault Holograms Gawain, Uriah, and Benkei." As the three soldiers materialized around him, he anticipated the reaction he received from Ajax. "Whatever you're going to do, you're gonna need them."

The crew felt an explosion in some nearby section of the Borg ship. "Sensors can't explain it," Jimenez offered over the shaking, "but I'd say we the Borg just took a direct hit three decks away!"

"Find their engines!" Kreighen called to him. "I'll try to target them manually!"

Jimenez's fingers raced over the interface, tracking the movements of both ships while he ran his scans. "The Borg had the same idea as you, Commander--engines are dead ahead! Reading psionic buildup--"

"Firing!" the commander yelled. 

With the press of a button, he engaged the shuttle's navigational deflector, emitting a bluish beam from the Borg shuttle and into the path of the collective's very thoughts, floating in the ether. The resonance signal from _Hrunting_ altered the psionic field, transmitting its energy to a shockwave of pure kinetic force. In seconds the wave shot across empty space into the aft ventral hull of the warship, focused onto a spot less than a meter wide. The result was immediate--a firestorm burst from the point of impact, and secondary explosions erupted across the back end of the ship. The enemy vessel lost attitude control, but it quickly adjusted its course to lurch back towards the Borg--damaged, but still very much a threat.

Kreighen, Jimenez, and Ijhel could not know this. The psychic feedback from the weapon had overcome them instantly, leaving them wherever they fell. Only the hollow men remained to answer the warship's charge.

Ajax wasted no time in pushing Kreighen out of the way of tactical. The shuttle's polaron cannons fired deeply into the warship, meeting little resistance from whatever defenses the enemy could still muster. It seemed that Kreighen's guess had been right--both their offensive and defensive capabilities were purely based upon the crew's mental fortitude. Shocked, no doubt, by the success of the rail gun, Species 10538 was unprepared to fortify their vessel's conventional armor against conventional weapons. The warship rolled and pitched under fire, until it was engulfed in a single, massive conflagration.

The sergeant stood up from tactical, and took the time to re-situate Commander Kreighen in his chair. Then he addressed his troops, who quickly snapped to attention. "Gawain, you'll guard the shuttle. Uriah, Benkei--on my signal, you're to beam directly to the Borg's transwarp coil and secure it. The Borg shouldn't offer any resistance, but we can't take chances."

"Why?" Gawain asked him. "What's going on, sir? And where will you be going?"

Ajax sighed, and retrieved the tablet Ijhel had prepared for him. "The Borg crew complement has been disabled," he explained. "And I have a job to do at their central plexus."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally provide warnings for content, but two days after I wrote this it's still bothering _me_ , so I think something is necessary. This chapter depicts graphic violence--if you're concerned this may disturb you, you're probably right and discretion is advised.

> Ship's log, stardate 39133.9. Lieutenant Tirava reporting.
> 
> Status of Captain Blackwood and his away team aboard the Borg cube " _Croatoan_ " remains unknown. The Ferengi have abandoned them to their fate to save themselves. The _Tombaugh_ has taken heavy damage. First Officer Hardcastle is gravely wounded. Second Officer Carvalho is dead. I am left with no alternative but to take command of this vessel and surrender to the Borg. 
> 
> Andorians do not capitulate easily, and I am no exception. My decision goes hard for me, but I must take into consideration the spirit of the wishes of the captain and first officer--to attempt peace at all costs, to bridge the gap between ourselves and an unknown alien society, and to protect the lives of the crew. Nevertheless, I want the record to show that the crew of the _Tombaugh_ has served with distinction and courage. This defeat is mine, and mine alone.
> 
> Since my acquiescence to the Borg ship, they have ceased all hostilities except the use of their tractor beam, which continues to hold us in place. But even if escape were possible, I would remain here to await whatever fate they offer me. Whatever else may be true about the Borg, they have enough honor to cease fire when an enemy has yielded. That alone suggests they would be preferable to the Ferengi.

The bridge of the _Tombaugh_ was all but deserted when the Borg came for her. Tirava had dismissed all non-essential personnel to help with the medical emergencies resulting from the battle, and since the ship was out of their control there were very few essential duties to perform on the bridge. So she alone stayed, seated in the captain's chair, to complete her final task in command. 

Two humanoids materialized right in front of her, roughly matching what little description Blackwood's away team had provided. Their skin was a bleak gray, and their "uniforms" were no more than the assortment of cybernetic devices piled upon their bodies. "I am Lieutenant Tirava, in command of the USS _Tombaugh_ ," she announced, her tone a mix of somber accession and unyielding protocol. "The ship is yours, though I would ask to speak with your leaders about the safety of my--"

The Borg offered no diplomacy, no tact, no courtesy. They simply reached for her arms, yanking her from the chair with surprising strength. Her heart raced; her instinct was to fight, to kill. But duty won out in her mind, and she remembered her priorities--peace at any cost, save the lives of the crew. A violent solution might eventually present itself, but it wouldn't be anytime soon.

But the Borg were unconcerned with her decision. At the slightest sign of her resistance one of them swiftly raised his arm, pressing part of its elaborate prosthetic to her neck to inject some kind of sedative. They also spent no time waiting for the drug to take effect--they beamed back to their ship, with Tirava, before she could take another breath.

When they rematerialized, Tirava found her conscious mind unaffected by the Borg injection, but her body felt sluggish and unresponsive. As the Borg dragged her through their ship, she recognized that their treatment of her indicated a horrible truth: a peaceful solution was perhaps even less likely than a violent one. Any hope of the Borg adhering to some equivalent of Federation guidelines concerning the treatment of prisoners had already evaporated. And they weren't finished with her.

As her two escorts propped her upright, a third drone lumbered forward with a completely different array of prostheses. Most prominent among these was a series of thin blades at the end of its arm. Instinctively she tried to push herself away from this one, even as she resolved to face whatever sort of torture she could imagine. And yet the drone avoided damaging her integument altogether, as it sought only to slice through her uniform, from the center of her collar downward. As precise as this operation had been, the Borg were far less delicate in finishing the job. The two handlers proceeded to tear the shorn clothing from her body, until what was left it hung around her ankles. A fourth drone then arrived, specifically to remove her boots and whatever debris remained.

She was lifted onto a large, inclined table and quickly restrained. Tirava had a fair idea what the Ferengi might do with her in this situation, but the Borg seemed to lacked their prurience. They seemed to lack _any_ motivation--she could find no trace of malice, sadism, or cruelty in their expressions. Regardless, she had to assume their goal was to extract information, so she quickly gave them everything that she would volunteer. "T-Tirava. Lieutenant, junior grade. Sierra india seven five three dash niner one four. I...I want to know what you've done with my crew..."

They did not respond. Instead another Borg emerged from the darkness, with a completely different set of prosthetic blades. It circled out of view and grasped the base of her skull, lifting her head up from the table. She then heard a soft hum, and a slight pressure against her cranium...and finally the strange sensation of having her shaved scalp exposed to the air.

"Why are you doing this?" she cried out. Tirava exhausted the last of her energy in a final, panicked burst, as if hoping to overcome the Borg's restraints with a single brief surge of adrenaline. When her head was released, she shook it with all her might, resisting in any way that she could. "Tell me what you want!"

A new drone now used its unaltered hand to force her head down against the table, forcefully pressing into her face with its clammy fingers. Her eyes grew wide as she saw its other arm, with a single broad blade, lowering down towards her, then out of her field of vision. It's palm was mashed against her mouth and nose--she could barely breathe, let alone argue.

She felt something scraping against her forehead, and then unimaginable pain in her right antenna. Her mother had trained from birth to exhibit no weakness, but nothing could have prepared her for this. The chamber filled with the sound of her pathetic, helpless scream, muffled though it was by her assailant. Through her agony she heard a small tap and could only imagine it was her severed appendage falling onto the deckplate. For the briefest of moments she was actually relieved that the ordeal was at least complete. This only magnified her terror when she felt the scraping sensation again, just as before, and knew exactly what was about to happen to the other antenna.

Its grisly task completed, the drone stepped away from her, replaced by another who fitted a device around her temples to constrict movement of her head. In all, over a dozen Borg wandered in and out of the chamber, performing incremental procedures upon the naked, bleeding, sobbing creature that had once been a proud Andorian warrior. One would begin peeling away the skin on her hand, then abruptly abandon the task to drill a small aperture into her skull, leaving the original task for another drone to complete at a later time. She could feel blistering heat where they literally soldered bio-receptive circuitry to her nerve endings. Her eyes were wired open and physically fixed toward a series of dizzying visual signals. For hours she howled, and cried, and babbled. Then they surgically replaced her trachea with a magnetostrictive transducer, and she wheezed nothing more than plaintive static.

The torment only ended when a final drone reached into the gaping hole in her occipital bone, and affixed a small component directly onto her cerebellum. In seconds, her pitiful, inhuman whimpering ceased. The pained look on the broken young woman's face was replaced by the same callous, indifferent expression as her captors. The restraints were released, and the nascent drone immediately rose to its feet, unassisted. Clad only in a handful of black metal plates, and with blood still trickling down the back of its neck, it followed another drone out of the chamber, to complete its assimilation into the Borg Collective.


	28. Chapter 28

> Commence ship's log, Lieutenant Commander Jacob Kreighen, stardate 63145.9.
> 
> I have assumed command of this Borg probe vessel, captured by the crew of the shuttlecraft _Hrunting_. The details of that incident have been recorded in the _Hrunting_ logs. 
> 
> Does this ship fly under a Federation flag? I don't know anymore. As far as Admiral Janeway is concerned, we're _persona non grata_ in allied space, and consigned to work behind enemy lines with Unimatrix Zero. We've been cut off from the Zeroes for so long now, I'm not sure we could find our way back to them if we tried. I should take the hint and fly this thing right on out of the Delta Quadrant. But Starfleet needs to know what happened here, so duty takes priority over God-given sense. It's definitely not the first time in the last 48 hours.
> 
> Morale among my crew, humanoid and hologram alike, is understandably low. I take full responsibility for their actions in this matter, but that's not going to help them sleep at night. War is dirty business--I've spent my whole career learning that, but it never gets any easier to wade through it. I keep wondering what I should have done differently...what Captain Eadie would have done, or Jameson, or Archer. I know what Picard would have done--the Borg told me, and they followed his example better than I did.
> 
> The ship's data indicates eight hundred eleven drones were operational when they began their final assault on Species 10538. How many of them were still alive when we exterminated them? It's hard to say. There were no corpses left when Ajax's team completed their assignment. Whatever else might be said about those eight hundred eleven drones, and whatever they might have eventually done if permitted, this fact cannot be denied: to the end, they honored their alliance and provided invaluable aid against our mutual enemy. Their sacrifice should not be forgotten, not even to mollify a guilty conscience.
> 
> Until repairs can be completed, we remain in what the Borg called System 2095. We can only hope the Murasaki Effect hides us from passing Borg ships...or anything else wandering through this sector. I only have one engineer to fix a ship designed to be maintained and operated by a collective of hundreds, so it won't be easy. But with any luck, Ensign Jimenez can activate the transwarp coil, and we'll be back in allied territory by the end of the week, not the end of the decade.

When the log was complete, Kreighen put down his datapad and sat on the edge of the catwalk overlooking the atrium of the Borg vessel. It was the same view as when he had stood alone before the faceless eternity of the Collective. Now, though, it felt dark and lifeless...or perhaps simply dark _er_ and _more_ lifeless. He had thought the ship too quiet during the Borg's regeneration cycle, but that felt like the Rio Carnival compared to a Borg ship completely devoid of Borg.

The echo of a single set of footsteps carried from hundreds of meters away. His heart could take it by now--after riding out Ajax's stimulant and some long overdue sacktime, he was a new man. But it was still difficult for him to shake the feeling that it had to be trouble--an intruder, a vengeful Borg survivor, or a shipmate bearing bad news. Kreighen gathered up his equipment, as if to prepare for the worst.

When he recognized the Andorian woman striding out to meet him, his instincts changed. The past two days had been completely miserable, and the thought of spending even an hour talking to her gave him hope that he could carry on. But as she drew closer, he could see the severity in her eyes, and he remembered their relationship as it was, instead of how he wished it could be. So he resolved not to embrace her, no matter how much he longed to, out of respect for her wishes.

"Lieutenant Tirava," she announced, standing at attention, "reporting for duty, Commander." Her voice was hoarse, but strong.

He struggled for the right thing to say. "It's...good to have you back," he finally said. "I was worried about you...the whole crew was worried about you. Are you--?"

"I'm fine," she replied curtly. "Corporal...Gawain, I think?...gave me a clean bill of health."

"What about..." he fumbled, "...I mean, we kept you in a coma so they couldn't communicate with you. I didn't know if it would help. Do you...remember any of it?"

She considered it for a moment. "No--no, I don't think so. It was like...being asleep. I was dreaming."

"Really? Gawain thought you might be. What sort of dreams?"

Her antennae shivered, and she started to turn away until she caught herself. "Just...just...nothing unusual. The, uh, same dream I have every night."

He saw the pain in her face, and decided he couldn't just stand by. "Look, Tirava, I--"

She interrupted him. "Ajax filled me in on what happened."

"Oh. I'm still working on my report, if that's what you want..."

"No." She reached for his chin, and lifted his head so that he would look into her eyes. "Listen, I know...we've--you and I--we..."

"Yeah."

" _Yeah_ ," she nodded. They wouldn't deal with their relationship now, and that's how she wanted it. "Put that all aside. I want to make sure you know...you did the right thing, Jake."

"Achvir agreed with you," he muttered, and then shrank away from her. "I'm such a bastard."

"You did your duty--"

He wrapped his fingers around the railing and stared into the abyss below. "That doesn't help. And what makes it worse is that _you_ have to hear me whine about it. After everything they did to you, how can I stand here and feel sorry for _them_?"

"It doesn't make any sense to me either," she admitted. "But you're human. You have to look at every side of the issue, trying to find a single position that fits a thousand conflicting Earth philosophies, until you drive yourself mad. You had an opportunity for peace and an opportunity for victory, and you had to take both of them. You couldn't help it...it's your nature."

He looked up at her, his eyes glistening. "Tirava, I...I'm sorry--"

"You owe me _a lot_ of apologies, pinkskin," she smiled slightly, "but this isn't one of them. I...I know I could have just as easily been one of the drones on this ship. So if you wouldn't believe Achvir, _please_ believe me: they wouldn't resent you for killing them. And I don't resent you for mourning them."

He stood there, leaning over the railing, for several more minutes, and she stood by his side. If Tirava needed his comfort, or if she sought to lend him further support, she refused to indicate it. Nevertheless, she stood with him, refusing to let him be alone.

After a time his communicator beeped. "Jimenez to Kreighen."

The commander shook off his troubles and resumed what he hoped was the posture of a leader, composed and dauntless. "Go ahead."

"Jake, I've got good news and bad news. Utana and I have accessed some of the Borg's maintenance systems, and we think we can get the ship to repair some of its own damage in several key systems. I'm setting up relays in the _Hrunting_ so we can monitor the progress from there."

"I take it that's not the bad news."

"No, sir. I've gone over the transwarp coil half a dozen times. It's fried, Commander. From the looks of it, I'd say it was damaged before we even ran into them. That may be why they were hiding from Species 10538 in the Murasaki field to begin with."

Kreighen's heart sank--the silver lining he'd been hoping for had just evaporated. "All right," he rasped, "...all right...conventional propulsion, then. What can you give me, Nathan?"

"For now...warp factor eight point two," came the response. "But I've got some ideas, Jake--give me a couple of weeks and I'm sure we can get it up to nine-point-six."

"Do what you have to," Kreighen sighed. "Whatever it takes. Anything else?"

"Well, it's not much," Jimenez confessed, "but as long as I'm connecting the shuttle's computer interface to the Borg systems, it would help if the ship had a name. I can tell I'm gonna get really sick of sending voice commands to 'the Borg ship.'"

"Then _give_ it a name."

"I couldn't think of anything appropriate--you can't exactly name a Borg ship after your mother, y'know? Besides, you're the skipper."

Kreighen winced. "I guess so, but I'll be damned if any of you start calling me 'Captain.' 'Commander' is bad enough." He mulled it over for a few seconds, and soberly announced his decision. "' _Albatross_.'"

"The _Albatross_ ," the engineer repeated, perhaps with a hint of recognition. "No problem. Jimenez out."

"Interesting," Tirava commented. "Is that some Terran landmark?"

"It's a...bird," Kreighen explained. "Huge wings--two, three meters across. Ancient sailors considered them an omen."

"I see," she nodded. "A good omen?"

"Well..." He thought better of explaining the full context. "It depends on what you do with it."


End file.
